


Hawks and Doves: A Case Study of Wars and Incidents

by ferociousqueak



Series: Allistair Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Aerial Combat, Alien Planet, F/M, First Contact War, Light Viloence, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:08:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 48,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2467766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferociousqueak/pseuds/ferociousqueak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The age-old question of whether humanity is alone in the universe has been settled once and for all, and the neighbors aren’t exactly on the doorstep offering fresh-baked cookies or casseroles. Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard finds herself deployed to Shanxi to meet the alien threat and to defend the human colony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hawks and Doves is a game in which there are two teams: one hawk and many doves. At the beginning of the game, the doves are given time to strategize how to engage the hawk, who is also the scorekeeper; the hawk has only one strategy, but the doves don't know what it is. Both teams begin the game with the same amount of points and have the same moves available: attack or ignore. Attacking costs the other team one point; ignoring affects no one's points. The doves have the first move. The objective is to reach the end with as many points as possible, and the end can be either when one side has reached zero points or when both sides agree to it.

The news about Shanxi broke like windows in a hurricane. The age-old question of whether humanity was alone in the universe had been settled once and for all, and the neighbors weren’t exactly on the doorstep offering fresh-baked cookies or casseroles. The atmosphere at Arcturus—always alive with busyness—had escalated to frenetic, with troops and ships mobilizing, officers barking orders, and couriers navigating the current of soldiers and civilians alike, racing from one end of the station to the other. The Second Fleet would be sent first, would be the first human military unit to engage a sentient, nonhuman enemy.

The fleet’s forward carrier, the _SSV Feynman_ , would ship out at 1300, giving Hannah and Michael Shepard a full hour to grab their footlockers, pack a bag for their three-year-old daughter, and sign her in to the Alliance’s extended-stay childcare facility.

It was also just enough time to argue at every step of the process.

“What do you mean you’re assigned to the _Feynman_?” Hannah tried to keep her voice even to avoid upsetting their daughter while grabbing handfuls of freeze-dried snacks and stuffing them into her duffel. “The Alliance doesn’t assign family to the same ship.”

He shrugged and tried to mirror her even tone as he tugged Allistair’s arms through the sleeves of a new clean dress (she’d managed to make the one she’d worn that morning sticky with an unidentifiable substance), then pulled back her hair and started in on a braid. “Martial necessity, I suppose. I have my orders. That’s all that matters.”

She swallowed a swear. The little one had already repeated three different ones in the last week. “Bautista’s team berths on the _Feynman_ , not yours.”

“Her team will be there too. Admiral Drescher doesn’t want to take any chances. Two N teams are better than one, especially when we might need a second team.”

Hannah bit the inside of her lip until she could taste blood. How could he say it like that? So _blithely_ , as if she didn’t know _precisely_ what it would mean to _need a second team_.

“You’re doing it again, Han. You’re going to end up with scars there one day.”

She zipped up the bag and tossed it near the door where the rest of their effects were. She stalked into the bathroom without responding to him. When she reemerged in the kitchen with a tiny yellow toothbrush and toddler toothpaste, she couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Challenge the order.”

“Han—”

“ _Han_ me one more time, Michael,” she snapped.

“Mama mad?”

Hannah smiled immediately. Even if the fire of her anger (toward the brass and Michael’s apparent willingness to do whatever they asked of him) wasn’t even nearly quelled, she could keep her composure a bit longer. “No, starshine,” she said, pinching the little nose. “Mama’s happy.”

Everyone said Alli was the spitting image of Hannah, and she could certainly see that her daughter had inherited her same light green eyes and freckled cheeks and dark red hair ( _that will hang limp and bodiless all your life, my dear, sorry about that_ ) over Michael’s gunmetal gray eyes and olive skin and black hair that was perfect in every way ( _damn him_ ). She could even tell Alli would grow into a pointed chin and a set of arching brows much like her own once she grew into her adult body. Even so, Hannah recognized Michael in her every expression, every smile, every laugh, even every turn of her hands.

At this moment, however, at the white lie Hannah told to shield her daughter, the smile Alli donned was a new one and all her own. It was _placating_ —as if she didn’t believe what Hannah said but didn’t want her to worry either. _Jesus,_ _she’s only three. She’s not supposed to get smiles like that yet_. She turned a stony look toward Michael, silently demanding they continue their discussion after they’d dropped her off, and finished packing their daughter’s things.

It was no mean feat getting Alli to the care center. There were at least two dozen other families who were also trying to get their children into safe arms before shipping out.

“ _Martial necessity_ ,” Hannah spat, as if it were the swear she’d been holding in.

Once she’d signed her daughter in, Hannah bent down and kissed her little one half a dozen times. “Be good for Mr. Leadbetter, Allistair. Go to bed when he says, don’t ask for snacks before lunch, and brush your teeth every morning and every night, just like I showed you.”

“Okay, Mama. Come back later?”

Hannah felt a familiar prickle at the corners of her eyes and coughed a little to keep her throat from closing up completely. She knew every parent claimed to have the most brilliant child, but it happened to be true in her case. Alli’s words and sentences were coming along so quickly, and she hardly stumbled at all when she walked these days. And nothing—not insects, not the dark, not heights—seemed to daunt her. Could she really be only three?

“Mama and Daddy will be gone for a couple of days, but we’ll be back as soon as we can. It’s time for us to be heroes, starshine,” she smiled and kissed her nose. She rocked back on her heels and pulled what looked like a thick, gray bracelet from one of the pockets of her fatigues. She hooked it around Alli’s small wrist and locked it. “Keep this bracelet on. When you wear it, Mama knows you’re safe.”

“Okay, Mama. Love you. Be good. Love you, Daddy.”

Alli squealed with delight when Michael picked her up and spun her around. “We’ll be back, kiddo. Try not to burn the place down while we’re at work.”

“Okay, Daddy. Love you,” she said and planted a wet, smacking kiss on his cheek.

Then Alli slipped her plump little hand into Mr. Leadbetter’s, who gave them both a reassuring grin, and disappeared down the corridor leading to the overnight care room.

As soon as they were back in the main thoroughfare, she said quietly but forcefully. “Challenge the order, Michael.”

“There’s no time for that, Han. Besides, you see all these other families. We’re not the only ones. We know almost nothing about these bastards, and we need to come down on them as hard as we can. All hands on deck. You know the drill.”

“I don’t care. She needs at least one of us.”

“Don’t talk like that, Han. We’re _both_ coming back.”

“That’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t tell me what’s going to happen to Alli if we don’t. This is a high-risk deployment, not least of all because there’s so little intel. We need to maneuver so that Alli doesn’t end up orphaned, for fuck sake.”

Michael put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder to pause her, heedless of the crowd rushing around them, and turned her to face him. He held her gaze for a moment and said, “Hannah. We’re coming back. Alli is going to have both of us for a long time to come.”

All around them, the engines of docked fleet ships flared to life as they started preflight procedures. The bass humming of so many ships at once made the walls and floors of the station tremble, and Hannah knew Michael was right about one thing: the time for challenging orders was well past. Some of the fire went out of her as she watched more and more soldiers rush to their assignments. Plan A had been to keep one of them from deployment, but clearly, that was no longer possible. Plan B it was then: guarantee victory at all costs and bring everyone home alive. Easy.

She managed a weak smile. Even if she didn’t believe him, she could help him not to worry. “Okay, Mickey Blue Eyes, you win.” She lifted up on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips. “But even if these alien bastards don’t kill us, Captain Tran might if we’re late. You don’t know him like I do. Move that cute ass, soldier.”

He kissed her, warming her all the way through, and then pulled her by the hand down the hall toward the _Feynman_ ’s docking bay.

#

It wasn’t going to be a couple of days. At least not on Arcturus.

Admiral Drescher commanded the fleet to go sub-FTL, but only just. The hostile cruiser had not made a move to leave Shanxi, so perhaps they didn’t know anything existed beyond that colony. The Second Fleet would need to manage its blue shift to keep it that way and to keep from giving away its position. A reasonable precaution, but it made Hannah anxious. The longer they took to get to the garrison, the more lives they were likely to lose at the colony. And worse, the hostiles had more than a month to do whatever they were doing, while the Second Fleet had only two or three days to prepare. Damned relativity. Still, it was better than using the relays and broadcasting their position to every system in the neighborhood.

She spent most of her time in the cramped, spartan officer’s closet she shared off the books with Michael, poring over the snippets of security and hardsuit recordings that she had clearance to view. The recordings were all part of a single info packet dump sent to Arcturus in one, giant comm burst, which was followed by a complete blackout from the garrison. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had. Any information she could glean from those minutes of footage could be the difference between victory and defeat for the fleet—between life and death for the colonists—so she continued to study.

None of the hostiles shed their hardsuits, but even so, they seemed to vary slightly in shape. All of them had pinched waists and three-fingered hands and spikes (spurs, maybe?) protruding from the backs of their digitigrade legs. Some, however, were smaller and had rounded heads, while the slightly larger ones required helmets that swept farther back at the top. Was the difference an indication of age? rank? sex? Information was too limited to rule out many possibilities.

Regardless of their shape, they were all of them disciplined, she could give them that. Their ground units moved like a single body. Maybe they were a hive mind? She shuddered to think what kind of military force was simply _that_ proficient at combat.

While the ground troops were intimidating, they still were not her main concern. Shanxi was a small outpost. A hundred thousand colonists at most, and maybe a thousand Alliance troops. Despite the relatively small population, though, the bulk of the assault had come from orbit. Talk about scorched earth. Whole city blocks were leveled in what appeared to be a strategy for taking out small fire teams. So, they clearly had no compunction about combat from orbit, treating even a small colony as if it were a major metropolis.

Who were these hostiles? What did they want? Why did they attack? Jesus, what had the Alliance done? What had they woken with these mass relays? They were out of their depth in this conflict, she was sure of it.

“I don’t think even Captain Tran has watched that footage as much as you have.”

Michael’s voice, low and wry and amused, drifted over her shoulder. Hannah suppressed a pleased grin and turned toward her husband. “No harm in looking one more time.”

Michael smiled, teasing her. “You’re obsessed, Han.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Is it such a bad thing to want to understand the enemy? If that’s what they are.”

A shadow passed over his face, and his smile faltered. “They bombed the shit out of Shanxi, sweetheart. I’m having trouble interpreting them as anything other than enemies.”

She shrugged and rubbed her neck. “Not every dog that bites is rabid. If we can figure out why this dog bit us, maybe we can avoid further loss of life. Or at least have better intel for strategy.” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just. Why didn’t they move on from there? Why aren’t they even trying to engage the rest of the Alliance? They stopped at Shanxi. What are they doing there?”

He pulled the pad from her hands. “Admiral Drescher and Captain Tran are the ones planning strategy. Put it away for now. _Our_ orders will come soon enough.”

He pressed a kiss against the crook of her neck, the softness of his lips nearly making her forget all about the warzone they were racing toward. Nearly.

“Michael,” she said, biting her bottom lip. She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t want to put down her work either. “The more we know, the more we, mmm, understand, the better off we’ll be in the fight.”

He kissed her neck and shoulder, his hand drifting lightly down her ribs and waist and hip and lower.

There was still so much work to do.

“We’re still far out,” Michael breathed into her neck. “How do you feel about us chasing after two little ones instead of just the one?”

Hannah smiled, moving her hands down his back, resting at his hips and hooking her fingers through his belt loops to pull him closer, moving her legs apart to make room for him. “Sounds like a workout. I’ve been meaning to work on my cardio more.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, leaning her back against the desk, the better to position his hips against hers. “We can work on your cardio now, if you want.”

She took in a deep, measured breath as his hand untucked the shirt of her uniform and began to work on the button on her trousers.

_//Commander Mikhailovich, Lieutenant Commander Shepard: Report to the war room. Repeat. Commander Mikhailovich, Lieutenant Commander Shepard: Report to the war room immediately._

Hannah allowed herself a small, frustrated groan and let her forehead drop to his shoulder. “Later, love,” she said. “Duty calls. Let’s bookmark this conversation, shall we?”

Michael seemed to consider her words. “What do you think ‘immediately’ means? Do you think there’s an understood difference of five or ten minutes? Give or take?”

She punched his arm good naturedly. “A quickie’s not exactly what I had in mind, Shepard.”

He smiled and kissed her neck just below her jaw. “Far be it from me,” he said, “to spend insufficient time on you.”

Damn but he could make her heart race. Maybe they could pick up where they left off afterward. Right now she had a duty to see to.

#

“With all due respect, sir,” Hannah managed to keep her voice steady, “this strategy seems unnecessarily reckless.”

Captain Tran turned his gaze toward her. “Do you have something to add, Lieutenant Commander?”

Hannah cleared her throat and tried to wrangle all the threads of information she’d pulled from the scraps of footage she’d watched over and over. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” He nodded. “If we engage the hostiles in orbit, we’ll be throwing lives away.”

Tran crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels. “Admiral Drescher designed this strategy herself, LC. Do you think maybe she missed something?”

Hannah didn’t miss the emphasis of her rank. She cleared her throat again and resisted biting down on the inside of her lip in retribution. “Admiral Drescher is a fine soldier, sir, and an excellent strategist. But I think her strategy here makes assumptions we can’t afford.” Her heart pounded and her hands would’ve been shaking if she didn’t have them clasped behind her back in parade rest. Even so, she kept her back straight and her eyes forward. She was toeing the line of insubordination, but it was critical that she voice her opinion about what she’d gleaned about the hostiles from the brief recordings.

Commander Boris Mikhailovich crossed his arms—perhaps in an effort to imitate Tran—and shrugged. “What sort of assumptions?”

“That we even know what we’re doing, sir.” Mikhailovich started to protest, but Hannah pressed her luck and talked over him. “No Alliance vessel has ever engaged in null-atmo battle, sir, not with live ammo and real stakes. We’re operating on theory only. Simulators and war games at best. I’d bet good money the hostiles are expert fighters by experience. They’ll nail us to the wall if we try to go head to head with them, even if we have the element of surprise. A good old-fashioned blitz just isn’t going to be enough.”

Tran pursed his lips, but he didn’t dismiss her out of hand. “If you’re so sure about the bastards, perhaps you have another approach in mind.”

She nodded once. “With your permission, sir, I do. We get them in atmo.”

Mikhailovich shook his head. “How exactly are we supposed to get them in the soup without going head to head, LC? And even if we did, our cruisers can’t maneuver down there. We’d be cutting off our nose to spite our face.”

“With respect, sir, we can neutralize orbit as a theater without having to bring the whole fleet in atmo.”

Tran still looked skeptical but waved her forward. She brought up the holo of the hostile ship currently in orbit above Shanxi. “We send two cruisers, the _Seoul_ targeting fore and the _Sydney_ targeting aft, and a frigate for rear support. The _Thermopylae_ doesn’t have the sharpest teeth, but she’s got the fastest recharge time in the fleet, and timing can make or break the engagement.” She expanded the image to get a close-up of what appeared to be satellite dishes. She pointed to each one, making them bright red. “While the larger ships volley, send two squadrons of fighters to take out the hostile’s comm array. No comms, no triangulation, no artillery strikes. The colony will be safe, at least temporarily.

“Our guys will have landed a few blows on the cruiser by then, at which point we’ll feign a retreat. They’ll want to keep us there, so they’ll dispatch fighters for an air strike against the garrison.”

Mikhailovich put up his hand to stop her. “What you’re suggesting is not legal, Shepard. We can’t put the colony at risk just to draw them out.”

She shook her head. “We’re putting the garrison at risk, sir, not the colony. They go for military targets, not civilians.”

Mikhailovich barked a laugh. “Tell that to the half of Shanxi that was blasted into oblivion—”

“To get to militants,” she finished for him. “Collateral aside, we’ve yet to see them engage unarmed civilians directly—”

“And you’re willing to bet the whole colony on that?” Tran spoke firmly and held her gaze. She didn’t falter.

“I don’t have to, sir,” she said. Mikhailovich sneered and turned away, but she continued. “There will be a squadron of interceptors waiting for them. Nothing gets past my guys, sir, I’ll see to that. While we engage their fighters in atmo, you drop two N teams three klicks off the coast from the garrison. The comms will be down, but we can’t guarantee they won’t have other means of detecting our drop ships, so the operators will have to go in wet. Once they reach the shore, they’ll infiltrate the base and root out the occupiers. Divide and conquer, sir. Easy as you like.”

Tran was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “Thank you for your input, Lieutenant Commander. I’ll take it under advisement.”

Translation: _Stick to your pay grade_.

Hannah nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Mikhailovich sneered again, but this time in triumph. Hannah bit the inside of her lip to keep more words from escaping her. She never did understand why that idiot thought her loss was his gain.

#

The order to move out came only two rotations later. Admiral Drescher assigned Captain Tran to command the movements of the _Seoul_ , the _Sydney_ , and the _Thermopylae_ , as well as two squadrons of fighters, one squadron of interceptors, and two N teams for a ground assault.

Hannah drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. They’d actually listened to her. She could hardly believe it. Maybe this wouldn’t be a bloodbath after all. Maybe they could actually win this thing.

Before she could think better of it, she made her way to the bridge and Captain Tran.

“Captain, sir,” she called for his attention. “A moment of your time, sir?”

He turned to her and nodded, “Granted, Shepard.”

“I just read my orders, sir, and—”

He held up his hand to stop her. “I know it’s different from what we originally discussed in the war room, but I had some concerns about the effectiveness of those tactics. I shared those concerns with the admiral, and she agreed to the change in strategy. I know you don’t like last-minute changes, Shepard, but we all have our orders now.”

“You . . .” _had concerns?_ “I beg your pardon, sir, you say the new orders were your idea?”

He nodded. “I did, LC, but the admiral has cosigned them. Are you clear on what you’re supposed to do?”

Hannah’s head felt light and blood rushed in her ears, but she managed to nod. “Yes, sir.”

“The buck stops here, Shepard,” he said. “If this engagement goes sideways, I’ll take the responsibility.”

 _And the credit if it doesn’t_ , she thought but didn’t say. She _did_ say, “Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He nodded and turned away from her again.

She had half an hour before she had to start her preflight checks. Just enough time to get changed and break something in her quarters.

 _This plan will save lives and just might give us the advantage_ , she reminded herself. _If nothing else, at least you have that, Hannah, no matter who knows it_. _This is the best chance to get both of you back to Alli._

#

Hannah sat in her bunk, her flight suit on but not yet secured, breathing and trying to calm the rage in her. Michael sat beside her with his hand on her lower back, trying and failing to comfort her.

“Look at it this way, Han,” he said. “At least you didn’t get court marshaled for insubordination. And now the captain owes you. That’s not nothing.”

She stood up abruptly and paced the four meters of their quarters. “He blew me off and then took my strategy to the admiral. What makes you think he gives a damn about anything he might _owe_ me? Fuck! I should have gone to Drescher, not that asshole.”

“He’s not that bad of a guy,” he said. “He probably really was just trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit!” she spat.

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “You’re quite a few ranks removed from the admiral, Han. If we don’t win out the day, your career would not be able to survive the blow and neither would hers. She’d be a laughing stock if people knew she took the advice of an LC and lost because of it. Tran is the middle man who can save face for both of you.”

“And if we win, it’ll be a historic moment for humanity and I’ll be erased from it,” she spat.

“Hannah!” His team-commander tone made her snap to attention and look at him. He was standing now and quickly closed the distance between them in a single stride and gently placed his palms on her shoulders. “You need to get your head in the game. This? It’s a small thing. Who cares about history? The lives of your squad? The lives of my squad? The lives of Shanxi’s colonists? Those are big things. If you’re distracted, those hostiles are going to get right past you. They’re going to get to the garrison, and they’re going to kill us all.”

Hannah felt her shoulders drop and some of the rage cool, gripped by the cold fingers of shame wrapping around her insides. He was right, of course. This was a small thing, at least for right now. Her squad needed her full attention, deserved it. Michael’s and Bautista’s teams too. It was a good plan, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t tenuous. They’d get to Michael over her dead body—literally—and she had no intention of dying today.

She half-smiled at him and wrinkled her nose. “I hate it when you’re right, you know.”

He smiled and reached down for the front zipper of her flight suit. Slowly, he pulled it up and then secured the latch at her neck. “We still have that conversation to return to, Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Don’t keep me waiting.”

She smiled and kissed him, breathing in the smell of him, promising a whole future filled with conversations. Hoping for it. Just let them both come back.


	2. Chapter 2

While engineers, traffic controllers, and pilots rushed amongst the fighters, Hannah jogged across the flight deck to where Team Commander Ramona Bautista was sealing her armor, considering her choices in weaponry, and wearing an expression that could only be described as reverent. She was a tall and muscular woman, built like a damn tank. In full armor, she was a mountain—formidable and eternally unyielding. Hannah was glad they were on the same side because she was certain even these aliens would pause at the sight of her.

When Bautista caught sight of Hannah as she approached, she gave a broad smile—her teeth bright white in contrast with the dark brown of her skin—and slipped the SMG she’d chosen into its hook on her back. “Ah!” she said in mock surprise. “The illusive female of the Shepard species. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Hannah smirked and clapped the mountain on her shoulder. “I’ve come offering a deal, Bautista.”

The other woman nodded, her eyes glistening. “I’ve profited by you before, Mephistopheles. How will I find myself richer this time, and how much of my soul will you require?”

“I'll let you keep your soul this time, Mona. As you know, the male of the Shepard species is given to thrilling heroics—”

Bautista barked a laugh. “ _Cinga_ , don’t kid yourself! The female is no better.”

Hannah smiled and shook her head. “If you can keep a target off his back, you might just find yourself enriched with a suppressor I modded myself when we get back to Arcturus.”

Bautista’s smile faded. “I don’t know, LC. I’ve seen those recordings just like you. It’s not going to be a day at the park with these bastards.” She blew out a long breath and ran a hand over the short stubble that covered her scalp as she considered. “Okay, it’s a deal. His team is autonomous from mine, LC, but I’ll keep an eye on him the best I can. I’ll have Vega cover his six if I can’t.” She chuckled, though not as brightly this time, and shook her head. “You know me too well, Hannah. Dangle a personal gun mod in front of me, and I’ll bark like a dog if you want me to.”

Hannah laughed, then turned to head toward her fighter. “Doesn’t hurt to know what motivates people. Thanks, Mona.”

Her deal struck, she jogged the rest of the way to her fighter. She smiled fondly at her bird and ran gloved fingers along the fuselage. _Hello, Rosalind, dear_ , she thought. _What do you say you and me go dancing, eh darling girl?_

After examining the exterior of her fighter, she climbed into the cockpit just as she had a thousand times before, strapped in, and began internal checks. Everything was in perfect working order, of course—she would never let her Rosie want for anything. It gave her a warm feeling sitting in her fighter. There was nowhere she felt more at home, more like herself, than at these controls. Its wings were her wings, its body her body. She wasn’t a fan of vacuum navigation, but once they got in atmo, she would be unstoppable. Bautista may be a mountain on the ground, but once Hannah spread her wings, she would be a whole damn squall line in the air—deadly and impassable.

When she was sure she was ready to go, she sealed her helmet and initiated her life support and comm systems.

“This is Boudica One. Boudica squad, sound off.” One after the other, her squad responded. When all had reported in, she gave her approval. “All Boudica squad present and accounted for. Radio silence until we get in atmo. Let’s go kick ET’s ass, Boudica. Hard on my flank.”

She rocketed out of the hangar, and her squad followed her one by one. Shanxi loomed large and silent above them. The alien ship was still far enough away to be little more than a speck, but that was to be expected. Hannah needed time to get her squad in position to meet the planned-for hostile strike squad. She initiated her descending orbit and turned off her thrusters, letting her momentum and the planet’s gravity well carry her forward. It would be at least a couple of hours before they reached the outer atmosphere, and they would need to conserve their fuel where they could.

In the silence and solitude that stretched before her, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She reached for her breast pocket and pulled out a small tablet. When she switched on the display, Allistair’s freckled face smiled at her. She swiped a finger across the interface and it changed to Michael, winking and pointing at her over a cake with lavender icing, lemon slices, and still-burning candles. She swiped again and saw herself, draped in white silk and wrapped in Michael’s arms as they danced to something slow. In the next picture, she was holding up the middle finger of one hand while using her other to cover her very pregnant belly. Michael had been fascinated by how much she’d changed; Hannah had just wanted it to end so that she could feel like herself again.

In the next picture, she lay sweaty and tear streaked on a hospital bed, but smiling and holding a red-faced, yawning Alli. That was the first time she actually felt like a mother, and the force of that feeling had overtaken her so suddenly that for once in her life, she’d been speechless.

They hadn’t planned Alli, and Hannah had been terrified at first. Michael had been positively jubilant. _Of course he’s excited_ , she’d thought. _He doesn’t have to go around for nine months with this . . ._ thing _growing inside him_. Thoughts like that had made her worry she would be a bad mother, that both her child and her husband would come to resent her because she just couldn’t feel the way she was supposed to.

But then she’d been there in that hospital bed, exhausted and suddenly empty, and the nurse had slipped Alli into her arms. When she looked into her daughter’s eyes, so like her own, that emptiness filled up so quickly—ran over, in fact—that if she hadn’t already been lying down, she was sure it would have knocked her over.

Her hand hovered above her stomach as she looked through the pictures. Birthdays, Christmases, shore leaves, first steps, candid moments. For as many as there were and for as slowly as she cruised through them, she went through them all twice before Rosie warned her that the atmosphere was thickening. Our lives aren’t long enough yet. One day, it would take her more than an hour to get through all the evidence they’d been alive.

She started her engines again and took control of the ship.

#

“Comms neutralized,” a voice crackled loudly into Hannah’s helmet. “All forward assault teams falling back. Hostile fighters deployed and en route to your position, Shepard.”

“Copy that,” Hannah acknowledged. “Dig in, Boudica. Nothing gets past us, no exceptions.”

Sooner than she expected, the fighters appeared on her dash. Three seconds later, they were visible.

She locked one and waited for it to get just a bit closer to mitigate the drop. “On my mark,” she said and silently counted down from three. “Mark!”

The hail of missiles commenced, three hostiles blew apart, and the dance started.

Hannah felt a moment of relief when she saw the fighters up close. They were dirty* as a teenager’s thoughts, obviously designed for intimidation, for combat in the vacuum of space. Here in the soup, it would be no contest against Rosie and her sisters, each one clean as a whistle.

 _Work first, Hannah_ , she warned herself. _Celebrate after the job is done_.

“Lock in and fire at will!” she shouted over the comm, and her squad complied. “Hanson, Rousseau, on my flank!”

She shot down two more hostiles before she found what she was looking for: the leader. It was right there, two of its own flanking it. Its bird didn’t look any different from the others, but there was something in the way the other fighters moved around it, responded to its proximity, that made Hannah sure she’d found the head of the serpent. Now to cut it off.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Rousseau’s fighter blow apart.

“Hanson, Rousseau is down. Take the fighter on your ten—”

Before Hannah could finish the order, Hanson was also gone. She checked her combat screen. They outnumbered the hostiles at the moment, but the dog fight had gotten snarled quickly. Everyone in her squad was engaged, and she was on her own. She tugged at her harness and settled in.

She pitched forward, almost directly toward the planet, just as a missile passed above her. The hostile fighters rocketed above her but then followed suit more easily than she would have liked. Their engines must’ve been some kind of pig to pull off that kind of maneuver. Even so, they still had too much drag; they’d never be able to fly like she could with her Rosie.

She held her breath and pulled up sharply, letting herself lose consciousness for the moment it took to come up behind the trio tailing her. As soon as she came to, even in the haze behind her eyes, she directed Rosie to target-fire-target-fire.

The two flanking fighters were now smoke and ash and sent streams of fire and debris toward the planet. Just one left.

She pitched forward again, but her quarry didn’t chase her this time. Instead, it went straight up and out of sight. _I’ll find you again_ , Hannah swore.

The enemy fighters were dwindling, but Boudica squad was also sustaining losses. Even if they succeeded in defending against the air strike, it looked like it was shaping into a Pyrrhic victory.

“Dig in, Boudica!” she shouted again. “Hold them—”

A crushing force slammed into her Rosie, knocking the wind from Hannah’s lungs. Even through her flight suit, she could feel the cockpit depressurize.

_Goddammit!_

She was starting to spin and fast. Her thrusters weren’t turning, and her engines, though still running, weren’t responding to her commands to reroute power. It looked like she’d have to bleed speed the old-fashioned way.

“This is Shepard,” she called to her squad. “I’ve been hit. Initiating emergency landing procedures. Keep the pressure on and hold them back, Boudica.”

She put her flaps down and opposed her ailerons and rudder. The spin slowed some, but not enough to make a difference. Something was wrong. Her Rosie was too heavy, too awkward. She looked over her shoulder to see if she’d caught a piece of debris.

It wasn’t debris.

It was the whole damn fighter. The leader.

_Goddammit!_

From where she sat, she could see the pilot’s face—well, the faceplate of their helmet. They were pushing her down, deliberately tangling the two of them together. She didn’t have to look down to know the ground was rushing toward her faster than she’d like.

_You don’t get to suicide-run me today, asshole!_

Above her, the dog fight had moved, but she could see it continuing on her dash. Her squad was going strong, but it was still going to be a close one.

 _I’m not going down like this_ , she thought. _Come on, girl, let’s dig in the talons._

She restarted the engines, hoping a hard reboot would give her more control. She did get some, and the spin slowed marginally, but not enough. Then the other pilot fired up their thrusters, reinvigorating the spin.

“Sic ‘em, Rosie!” she called out to her ship as she commenced the hacking suite.

She knew it was a Hail Mary, that the probability she could hack the other fighter’s systems was slim to none, but she had to try.

The ground was coming up much too fast; even if she got out of the spin, it wasn’t going to be a pretty landing. She twisted the rudder and the ailerons in opposition again, but left the flaps down. She tried it again and felt the cable snap. _Shit_.

Her dash flashed green. The hack worked. She now had access to the other fighter’s commands. She didn’t have time to wonder, and she wasn’t going to look too closely at this bit of luck just yet.

“Cut their thrusters, Rosie!” she shouted. “Kill their engines!”

The pilot in the other cockpit jerked in surprise as everything around them turned off.

They were too dirty to keep up their current speed, and without the help of the hostile’s thrusters, they finally started to slow. They came out of the spin, but now they were in free-fall. It was an improvement, but landing at terminal velocity wasn’t really a much better option over being run deliberately into the ground at top speed. She turned back to her dash. She ignored the rapidly dropping fuel gauge and focused instead on the avionics she could do something about: altitude, attitude, airspeed. Altitude. Attitude. Airspeed. _Just like in basic, Hannah_.

She had just over three hundred meters of altitude to work with. Not much, but she’d worked with less before. Granted, they were all in simulations and none of them had a hostile fighter attached to her Rosie. No time like the present to up the ante.

If she was lucky, she could stay in the air long enough to reach stall speed.

She knew she wasn’t that lucky.

Her arms burned from holding her pitch, and she was still coming in too fast. Ejecting was impossible with the hostile ship looming above her. She’d slam her head and crush her spine against its fuselage, and then where would she be? Dead, that’s where.

One hundred and fifty meters.

“Rosie restart the hostile’s engines. Start the thrusters, and kill our speed.”

Sixty meters.

She was still flying at one hundred knots, and she was running out of elevation.

Her attitude finally leveled out and she wasted no time. She dumped her flaps again and released the landing gear. Maybe she’d be lucky enough to bounce, but only if she could get the angle right. Their ground effect** was as likely to toss them as it was to carry them at this point, but it was a glimmer of hope.

Ten meters.

They hit the ground, and the world went black.

#

Hannah came to with the acrid scent of burning electronics penetrating her filters and curling in her nostrils. She coughed and then winced. Definitely a broken rib. Or five. Probably a broken clavicle, too, from where her harness kept her from ejecting. She felt a rivulet of blood run hot and thick from her nose and down her throat. _Perfect_.

She blinked, but it didn’t do much good. The cockpit was filled with black, billowing smoke.

She switched her helmet’s radio to the common fleet channel. “Command, this is Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Do you read?”

Not even white noise answered her call.

 _My poor, Rosalind_ , she mourned.

She released her harness and reached behind her. Ignoring the searing pain tearing through the side of her chest and the ferrous taste in her throat, she released herself from the life support and unhooked the emergency pack from her seat. She released the hook for the exit, but it didn’t budge. Fury burned through her, and she turned until she had the leverage she needed to kick the door open, ignoring the fiery pain ripping through her sides and chest.

She stumbled to the ground, her legs gelatin and her hands shaking. Nausea suddenly washed over her, and she had only barely enough time to tear off her helmet before the contents of her stomach evacuated her body. Slowly, her composure returned and she wiped her mouth as she stood. The air was cool on her skin, and she inhaled deeply until the shaking subsided somewhat.

She couldn’t see the source of the electrical fire, but she wasn’t too concerned about it now that she was out of the cockpit. Eezo wasn’t gasoline or even jet fuel; there’d be no great explosion, and she’d have plenty of time to escape the flames. Before the fire got too hot, she reached back into the cockpit, disengaged the black box, and added it to her pack. She’d get back to the Alliance long before they’d have the spare time and manpower to look for her downed fighter, especially if they assumed she was dead—which, by all rights, she probably should be. She’d save them time and resources by bringing her black box with her.

 _But what about the other fighter?_ , she wondered. _Is it rigged to explode when the pilot dies? They did just try to run you into the ground in a suicide dive_.

Tentatively, she stepped toward the other ship, which had stopped some twenty meters from where Rosie now lay. The trail behind them stretched about one hundred meters and was littered with debris. She peered inside the cockpit, but her view was obstructed by smoke. The outline of the pilot was faint but still, and their head hung low.

 _Good fight, brother_ , she thought. _That took some nerve. You got a good death for people like us_.

As she turned to walk away from the crash site, movement caught her eye. The hanging head of the pilot nodded briefly and then rolled back. It brought its hands up, but the smoke obscured what they did. The body seemed to jerk, but it didn’t go anywhere. It jerked again, but still stayed where it was. Hannah could hear the sound of a muffled, flanged cough even from where she stood.

Before she could think better of it, she turned back toward the downed fighter. She felt around the edge of the cockpit until she found what felt like a seal release. It took a few different tries, but eventually, she heard the hiss as the cabin depressurized and the hatch swung open. Smoke and heat billowed outward. She set her emergency pack on the ground and opened it. When she found the knife she was looking for, she turned back to the ship and climbed up the side. The alien saw her and saw the knife and started pulling harder at the restraints.

Hannah stopped her ascent just outside the alien’s reach and held up the knife, balancing it between her thumb and forefinger while keeping her palm open. With her empty hand, she made slow slashing movements in the direction of the harness. She held her breath and hoped her signals would be enough communication.

The alien stilled and seemed to brace themselves, so Hannah continued her approach slowly, as if she were dealing with an injured animal. She couldn’t see the flames, but the smoke was getting thicker and the heat more intense. She’d have to work quickly.

It was easy enough to slice through the harness on both sides, and when she was done, she offered her hand to the pilot. They looked at her and at her hand and slowly took it. She helped the alien out of their seat and then started to climb down again. She pushed her sweat-matted hair out of her face and swiped absently at the drying blood on her face, vaguely aware that she only made it worse.

Hannah turned back toward the alien, who still seemed wary of her.

“The colony is this way,” she said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder and having no hope that what she said made any sense to the alien. “You can stay here if you like, but we took out your comms, so no one is coming for you anytime soon. My bird is dead as dead can be too, so my people aren’t coming either, at least not for a few days.” She paused and looked around at the black forest and mountains around them. She’d gotten a good look at the terrain while she was looking for a patch of land flat enough to land on. She fished out her tablet and brought up a map of the colony, resizing the image until she found the lines that matched the topography she’d seen. She measured the distance she’d have to travel to the colony and turned back to the alien. “There are about two days’ worth of walking ahead to get to the colony. I don’t know about you, but I like my odds of surviving a strange planet’s wilderness much better if I’m not alone. You’re one tough asshole, too. If you tag along, I won’t complain. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll do my best to make sure you get back to your people instead of a brig somewhere. Sound reasonable?”

She settled her pack on her shoulder and winced. She turned in the direction of the colony, sparing a mournful sideways glance at Rosie, and started walking. When she’d walked about two hundred meters, she looked back at the crash site. Flames were licking the air around both birds now, and the black smoke was billowing in earnest.

The alien was gone.

Hannah unholstered her pistol, chambered a round, and continued her journey up the mountain and into the forest. At least she would have one traveling companion that wouldn’t shoot her in the back. She took a deep breath before stepping among the black-leaved trees and hoped down to her bones she didn’t just make the worst mistake of her life.

#

When the sun was low in the sky, Hannah decided to make camp for the night. She was still shaking—from the adrenaline comedown still, but also from hunger now. She only had a handful of ration bars in her emergency pack, so she would allow herself one bar, but not until the sun had gone all the way down. Too much time between eating and sleeping would make for a restless night, which would make for a hard day tomorrow.

Hannah unfolded the lean-to in her pack and set it up under some kind of leafy brush to take advantage of at least a little camouflage. She gathered fuel and started a fire, then gathered more fuel to keep it going for the night. By the time it was too dark to see anything beyond her campsite, she had settled in near her little fire and taken out her tablet from the breast pocket of her flight suit. If she held the device tightly enough to make her fingers ache, she pretended not to notice.

The sounds of the forest were unfamiliar, but not disconcerting. Frankly, she was more concerned about what she couldn’t hear. The sun had been down for hours already, but she couldn’t sleep. Pain burned at her ribs, and paranoia gnawed at the back of her mind. The alien could be watching her at that very moment, and she had no way of knowing for sure. How could she sleep while imagining them biding their time to move in and kill her?

Finally, she took a chance. “It’s nice and warm next to the fire,” she called into the velvet blackness of the forest. “I’d like to go to sleep, and I’d consider it a favor if you just gave it up already and made yourself comfortable. At least for tonight. I’m exhausted.” Then she considered a moment and took out her pistol. She made an exaggerated show of releasing the magazine and popping out the bullet she’d chambered. She put the pieces on the ground beside her, then swept her arms wide, indicating the area around the fire. “My camp is your camp.”

A full five minutes passed before a spot in the air shimmered and the alien pilot stepped into the light. Hannah thought back to old movies about aliens with cloaking devices tracking humans in dark woods and again questioned the wisdom in helping this one.

They had removed their helmet, and now she had her first full look at what they looked like. They had small, honey-colored eyes, and their face seemed to be covered in some kind of semi-mobile, silvery plates. The plates ended in a short ridge just above the brow, and the back of its head was comparatively smooth. Mandibles flicked around its jaw, each one painted with a single, sage-green stripe that started thick toward the back and narrowed to a point as it came forward. Another solid stripe of the same color ran down the bridge between their eyes, stopping just below a series of three horizontal slats (their nose? noses?).

Hannah held out her hand, palm up, and indicated to the ground around the fire again. They remained standing for a moment before warily taking a seat on the ground, leaning against a fallen tree trunk for support. Hannah nodded and returned to the images of her family. Neither of them said a word for some time.

When her stomach complained, Hannah finally acquiesced and reached for her pack. The alien stood quickly—much faster than Hannah would’ve expected, given all their strange joints and spikes—and she paused. She slowed her movements and deliberately withdrew her hand, holding a ration bar wrapped in foil.

She pulled apart the wrapper and took a bite of the food. “Dinner time,” she said around the food in her mouth. “Not very good, but it’s better than nothing at all.” The voice of her mother echoed through her mind, insisting that food was the fastest way to friends. She didn’t need a friend out of this stranded hostile; she needed someone who wouldn’t kill her while she slept. She broke the bar in half and held out the unbitten part. After a moment, they passed a hand over their abdomen in a single swipe and sat back down, looking away from Hannah and into the fire.

“Ah,” she said, taking another bite. “Not hungry, I guess. I wonder if you guys don’t get hungry like humans. More’s the pity for us if that’s the case. Fewer supply lines to disrupt. You’re bigger than us, though. I would’ve thought you burned more calories.”

She finished her ration bar in silence then resumed sliding through the pictures of Michael and Alli. There were a few of her parents and brothers in there, and she was starting to regret not taking more the last time she’d seen them on Earth. In fact, before Alli came along, she’d never been one for taking a lot of pictures at all. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her own picture taken or that she thought taking pictures took away from the experience of the moment; it just never occurred to her to try to record moments she might want to remember later—like when she’s stranded on a strange planet with nothing but her two legs to get her where she needed to go and an alien sitting across from her and possibly considering how to kill her—while they were actually happening.

Hannah sighed and winced. Food or no food, it was probably going to be a rough night. When she looked up from her pictures as she moved to straighten her back, she noticed the alien watching her. She held up the tablet and smiled weakly. “It helps to think about them,” she said. Carefully, she stood and moved closer to the alien. She held out the tablet, but they simply looked at her blankly, twitching their mandibles. She brought up a picture that Alli took of herself just a couple of months ago when she’d gotten hold of the tablet while Hannah’s back had been turned (it must have taken all of thirty seconds for Alli to grab the tablet and figure out how it worked).

“This is Allistair. She’s my daughter,” she said pointing to the smiling creature with too-small teeth. She patted her stomach, hoping the sign could explain what she meant. The alien looked from the picture to Hannah without saying anything. Hannah wondered if these aliens spoke the same way humans did. Maybe they weren’t hive minds—after all, this one was off by themselves and doing fine—but maybe they were telepaths. Might explain how they fought so well together.

“She’s already three years old, the little demon,” she continued after a thoughtful moment. “I didn’t even want her at first, if you can believe it. Afraid everything was going to change, I guess. It did, of course, but in the best way and in so many ways I didn’t expect. Do you guys carry your young? Or do you have eggs maybe? Or maybe you just grow them in vats?” Their mandibles twitched wide—what did that mean?—and Hannah sighed. “I know you have no idea what I’m saying, but I talk when I’m anxious. Michael—he’s my husband—he’s here too, and I have no way of knowing if he’s all right. Talking keeps me from going crazy.” She swiped the display until a picture of him sleeping on the couch from the previous Christmas came up. Hannah smiled and held up her left hand, showing her wedding band. “That’s him. I know he looks harmless here, but he’s the best marksman I know. He hit a target at twelve hundred meters once and didn’t stop strutting for a month. We were talking about having a little brother or sister for Alli before we got here.”

 _Would they have a son or daughter?_ , she wondered. _Would they even get the chance—_

She stopped herself from finishing that thought, but the wound it left was gaping and starting to fester already.

Suddenly, the pictures weren’t quite so comforting. Hannah closed that app and opened another. Soon, she heard a soft, rhythmic beat and smiled weakly. The alien leaned down, perhaps trying to get a better look at Hannah’s face.

She held up the device and explained, “It’s Alli. She has this bracelet that lets me track her vitals. It’s kind of like a baby monitor, but a bit more comprehensive. Michael thinks it’s creepy and a gross misuse of QEC tech, but it makes it easier for me to sleep sometimes. If I wore one, I could sync it with her tablet so that she could listen to my heartbeat. I do that sometimes, if I’m at work when she has a nightmare and can’t get back to sleep. I don’t do it on a deployment, though. If I were to—” she stopped and cleared her throat. “I don’t think I’d be doing her any favors.”

Hannah winced as she stood again and patted the dust from her suit. The shifting light from the fire sent bouncing shadows against the other’s face, and she couldn’t help but think of them as beautiful. _Beautiful but deadly_ , she reminded herself. _You have no idea what this one’s thinking_. “It’s late and we have a ways to go tomorrow. You can stay or go, whatever you like. You’ll probably be taken prisoner by the Alliance when we get to the colony, no matter what I say. But then, there’s no telling when your own people will be able to find you out here. Needle in a haystack and all that.” Their mandibles dipped, a new expression. “I’m just saying it’s your choice. You can do whatever you want and I won’t stop you . . . unless you try to kill me. I think you can appreciate that’d try to stop you in that case. But I have a feeling that if you were serious about killing me, you wouldn’t have taken off your invisibility thing and sat down by the fire like this. Or maybe you just really don’t like the cold. Anyway. Good night.”

Hannah stretched carefully beneath her lean-to, mindful of her ribs and collar bone. She turned down the volume on the tablet and set it near her ear. The alien didn’t seem to move even a mandible, and she was asleep in minutes.

#

When Hannah woke, it was already hot, the humidity promising to be oppressive in no time at all. The sun was still low in the sky, but sweat was already rolling through her hair and down her neck. _I need to find water immediately_ , was her first coherent thought.

Everything hurt and it took several minutes before she was able to successfully bend herself into a sitting position. As the sound of blood rushing through her ears subsided and she gained control of her breathing, she gradually became aware of the silence around her. She blinked and took in the sight of the campsite. The fire had long since burned down, and the alien was gone. So were Hannah’s lean-to, emergency pack, and tablet.

_Fuck!_

It took another couple of minutes for her to stand up, and even then she couldn’t straighten her back. It surprised her that she didn’t care that she didn’t have a map or a compass. She’d studied the topos as she walked the day before and gotten a good look at her location before the crash. She didn’t mind not having her emergency supplies or a lean-to. She might be uncomfortable getting to the colony, but she could improvise if she needed to. She didn’t even care about losing her black box.

No. The fury that smoked and curled through her now had only one source: her missing tablet.

Everything else was replaceable.

Hannah started to let out a frustrated yell, but stopped when the pain tore through her sides. She bent forward, her hands flying to her ribs as if that could calm them. _Later. Water first. Find them later. Tear their mandibles from their face later_.

She took a moment to manage her breathing and gain her bearings again. The trees around her weren’t too dissimilar from the ones she’d seen on Earth—taller, thicker, woodier if it was possible, but still similar—and the ground was covered in a thick layer of dead leaves and black sprouts. It would probably be best to stay in the shade they provided as long as she could manage it.

After taking one final deep breath, she started walking.

A heavy hand came down on her shoulder, and Hannah jumped. Then cried out in pain. _Dammit_. First thing I’m doing in Shanxi is getting a morphine milkshake. When she turned around, she saw the alien standing behind her. How had they moved so quietly? Slung over one shoulder was Hannah’s emergency pack with the two bottles it once held inside it now tied to the bottom of the shoulder strap; both bottles were dripping with beads of water. In one of its hands was Hannah’s tablet. They pointed to the top of the display, where the battery symbol glowed green and solid.

Hannah took the offered tablet and stared at it like she’d never seen it before. They pointed to the sky. _They recharged it for me_ , she finally let herself realize. It took her a moment more to find her voice and say, “Th-thank you.”

They started to walk but only got a few paces away before turning back to Hannah. They motioned with their head in the direction of the colony. She shook her head to break the daze of the confusion she still felt and took a couple of steps forward. She held out her hand for her pack, but they waved a hand dismissively.

“I can carry my own things,” Hannah insisted, furrowing her brows in displeasure.

They pulled their mandibles in tight and put a hand to Hannah’s ribs, gently but with enough pressure to make the point.

Hannah frowned. “Fine,” she said. “You can carry it for a bit. But, it’s not like I haven’t broken a rib before. I’m a soldier, not an infant.”

Their mandibles flared, and they—both of them—started again toward the colony.

 

 

_*A “dirty” aircraft is one that has features that make it less aerodynamic, whether by design, damage, or wear. The “cleaner” an aircraft is, the more aerodynamic it is._

_**Ground effect refers to the movement of air under a plane when it is near the ground (either during takeoff or landing). It acts as a cushion for a clean plane and, in some circumstances, can keep the craft from landing. If the craft is dirty, the movement of air will be much more erratic, and can make for a choppy landing._


	3. Chapter 3

The heat of the sun was soon obscured by a thick blanket of dark clouds. They would see rainfall before midday, Hannah was sure of it. She decided to reserve judgment as to whether the precipitation would be a welcome sight when it finally came.

As they walked, Hannah kept thinking about Robert Frost and his lovely, dark, and deep woods. She thought also on the promises she had to keep: that she would see Alli again, that both she and Michael would get through this. She had a mind to keep all her promises, too. It was the miles to go that were giving her problems.

If she’d had the time, she would have stopped to admire the strange wilderness around her. Hannah had grown up on Earth, and she’d never been to any of the colonies before. Seeing the black leaves and the black blossoms—dusted with what looked like emerald green and sapphire blue pollen—on the trees around her took her breath away, and she wanted to soak in the beauty that surrounded her. But there was a garrison to find and an alien in front of her who kept a relentless pace. Even so, she plucked a blossom and tucked it into a thigh pocket of her flight suit. Alli would be thrilled by it if she could get it to her in one piece.

“The leaves are usually green on Earth,” she said idly. It felt awkward not to make some kind of conversation, regardless of whether they were able to understand one another. “Flowers come in pretty much every color, though. Plumerias are my favorite, I think, or maybe jasmine. I can never decide. I wouldn’t have thought black flowers with black leaves could be beautiful, but here we are.”

The alien looked at her and flared their mandibles. Of course Hannah was being ridiculous. She was talking about things this stranger had no notion of in a language they had not the first means of understanding. Even so, she couldn’t help herself. It just felt unnatural, rude even, not to talk at all.

They walked a little farther in silence before Hannah noticed the burning smell. The alien must have smelled it too because they stopped in their tracks and started to take several deep breaths. Hannah took out her pistol, checked the chamber, and took a low-ready stance. The alien tensed but didn’t go for their weapon. Instead, they set down their load against a tree and stepped away from the direction they had been following. Hannah followed at a distance.

Twenty meters later, they came across a clearing in the trees, and Hannah’s breath caught in her chest. One of the downed hostile fighters smoldered and smoked before them. A missile had torn through the cockpit, nearly tearing the bird in half. Hannah could see a three-fingered hand sprawled against the dash, but it didn’t seem to be attached to anything.

Hannah shuddered and the alien stiffened. They walked slowly toward the dead bird, and Hannah holstered her pistol again. Despite the smoke, little heat actually radiated from the wreckage; it was down to its embers, having already done most of its burning. The alien passed a gloved hand tenderly over a line of swirling script painted on the fuselage, and suddenly Hannah felt like an intruder.

As she turned, she caught sight of another fading pillar of smoke several dozen meters away. Even from that distance, she knew it was Alliance. She jogged quickly over to the newfound wreckage, letting herself believe there might be a survivor.

“Hanson!” she called. “Rousseau! You in there?”

As she got closer, she knew she had no reason to hold to that small hope. She could see the pilot clearly—at least what was left—and it was obvious no one could’ve survived that crash. She covered her mouth to keep the smoke out and the vomit in, and muscled open the cockpit with her shoulder, all the bones in her chest complaining against the action.

The pilot was burned beyond recognition. Her hand still covering her mouth, Hannah pulled at the charred cloth around the pilot’s neck, fishing for their dog tags. She found the chain and gave a firm tug. The tag came loose with a sucking sound that sickened her, and she unclasped the chain. The tag firmly in hand, she let herself fall away from the wreckage before examining it.

She turned the small piece of metal over in her hand. _Rousseau, Bao. Dammit_ , she thought. She passed a thumb across the tag, cleaning it of the blackness that obscured it. When was the last time she’d talked to him? How was she supposed to look his wife in the eyes, let alone tell her Bao wasn’t coming back?

“I’m sorry, Rousseau,” she whispered, gripping the tag. “You deserved a better leader. You shouldn’t . . . it’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

When she turned away, she nearly ran into the alien. Hannah stepped back, straightening her shoulders and clearing her throat. She looked into the alien’s honey-colored eyes for a long moment. “I think at least half my squad died up there,” she said at last, “and I didn’t even talk to them before we scrambled. Too furious about my captain stealing my strategy and putting his name to it, I guess. I should never have had my own command if I couldn’t be bothered to talk to them before they went off to die.” She brushed away a drop of rain that had fallen on her cheek (definitely not a tear) and took a deep breath. “I wouldn’t even blame the brass if they discharged me when I get back.”

Hannah pocketed the dog tag. She had more than a few letters to write before long, she knew. But there was a colony to save and a garrison to liberate if she could. First things first.

At length, she looked at the alien in front of her, matching their gaze. Eventually she found her voice again. “I’m sorry about your comrade. I’ll bet you have a few letters to write when you get back too.”

With that, she took a deep breath and took a step in the direction they’d been following. The sound of rain on the canopy above was starting to pick up. Some of the rain was even starting to make it past the thick leaves. They’d have to stick to the forest if they wanted to keep dry.

“Come on,” she said, jerking her head toward the colony. “We’ll collect any dog tags we find along the way. Right now, we need to focus on getting to civilization.”

She felt the alien fall in beside her, a low thrum seeming to vibrate from their chest. It sounded mournful to Hannah, but she could be projecting. Still, it looked like they had a few things in common after all.

#

“Well, fuck,” Hannah said aloud before she could bite back the words.

After two hours of walking, they’d stumbled across a sheer-sided ravine that separated them from the other side of the mountain. No trees. No cover. Just smooth rockface all the way down. Worse, the ravine cut high up the mountain range, effectively barring the option of going around it. If they wanted to keep up their pace, they would have no choice but to go down one side and scale the other. Even that way it would be damn near impossible to cross. The rain was falling steadily harder as time passed and would make the crossing just that much more complicated.

She smirked and elbowed the alien. “It’s like a metaphor. You know? For us and . . . you guys.”

The alien flicked their mandibles wide and placed a hand on their waist to keep any more elbows from finding it.

Hannah rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Fine,” she said. “Don’t let me be clever, then. Give me my pack so I can find a rope or something. This ravine is way too steep for my taste, and the rain isn’t making me feel any better about it.” The alien put the hook of the pack into her hand, and Hannah covered her wince with a cough.

There was a length of rope in the pack, but it was nowhere near long enough. Besides the first-aid kit, the lean-to, the knife, the black box, the rest of the ration bars, and a fire-starting kit, there was nothing else in the pack. All useful things; all useless for what she needed now. Hannah huffed and shook her head. “What did I expect? Grappling hooks? A harness? One of these days, I’m going to have to just admit when I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

She looked around at the forest behind them. Maybe there was something fibrous she could strip and then fashion into a carpet of some kind, anything to give her some friction. Before she could start to look in earnest, a flash of movement caught her eye.

The alien had jumped down the side of the ravine and was currently sliding down the wet rock on nothing more than their boots. They moved several meters before reaching the bottom and splashed—though still upright—through the quick little creek that had started to run along the ravine floor.

“Great. I get the alien who thinks they’re a stunt devil,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes. She leaned over the edge of the dropoff and called down to the alien, “How exactly do you plan on getting out, asshole?”

So, the alien had made it down, but what about Hannah? She could go down the same way, but then they’d be in the same boat. And by the way the rain was coming down, they might even need a boat soon.

She scanned the opposite side of the ravine. It wasn’t quite as smooth as it seemed at first glance. Maybe they could scale it? There were stress fractures and at least a few handholds she could see, even from where she stood. They’d have to go slowly, given the slick surface, but it was worth a shot.

A plan of action already starting to form, Hannah slipped her arms through the shoulder straps and secured her pack. Before she could give herself the chance to think better of it, she stepped over the edge of the ravine and let herself be carried down to where the alien was waiting.

The alien’s mandibles were spread wide, and Hannah glared at them, but with no heat. “Dumbass,” she said. “Wait for orders next time.”

She was already soaked all the way through, and the water level was indeed rising. They would have to move quickly before their situation got worse.

She stepped out of the calf-high water and set down her pack. She pulled out the rope and tied one end around her waist.

“Here,” she said, offering the alien the other end of the rope and indicating what she’d already done to herself. “Tie this around your waist. If one of us falls, at least it’ll be a short drop.”

As the alien secured their end of the rope, Hannah took out the knife and then slid the pack around her shoulders again.

“Okay, I’ll go first. I’m hoping the cracks are enough to get this knife blade in so that I can get a decent anchor. Follow me when you’re ready.”

The ravine wall wasn’t straight up and down, thank god, but it was still going to be a challenge. Hannah wedged her knife into a crack and wrapped her fingers around the first handhold she could find. Her ribs and collarbone complained when she pulled herself up, but there was nothing to be done about it. They had to keep moving, had to get to the top of the ravine.

The alien started up after her in short order. They didn’t have a knife like Hannah, but their talons seemed to give them plenty of purchase as they reached for handholds. Hannah breathed a small sigh of relief.

Inch by inch, they made their way up the wall. One handhold after another, they moved upward. The knife gave Hannah a little more efficiency, and she occasionally had to pause to let the alien catch up to her. Even so, it appeared they would make it without incident.

A crack of lighting split the air less than half a kilometer from their position, and Hannah felt her grip slip. She didn’t fall, but she had to pause to collect herself. A gale followed the lightning, turning the rain pelting against her skin into uncountable needle points. Just another few seconds and it would be over.

Then another crack of lightning.

Another assault of wind.

Another barrage of knife points.

Fire burned through Hannah as the rope around her waist tightened and a new weight pulled at her. She looked to the side in time to see the alien sliding down the ravine wall. Their talons slowed their descent, but just barely. Hannah turned back to the rock in front of her and grit her teeth, bracing for the worst of it.

Under normal, healthy-as-a-horse-Hannah circumstances, she would have been able to carry the alien’s weight, she was sure of it. But the pain that ripped through her now, set aflame all over again by the cinching at her waist, was too much, and she felt her fingers slipping, even from the handle of the knife. She let out a cry of pain and felt her fingers lose their hold.

She fell.

She slid against the rockface, her hands grappling for purchase and finding none. She felt the flesh of her palms and fingers rip and tear as she fell and could do nothing to stop the descent. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

The rope tightened around her waist once again, pushing all the air from her lungs, and she put out her hands to keep from spilling over. She’d stopped. Hannah looked up and saw the alien. Their forearm glowed orange, and the light seemed to be embedded in the ravine wall. With their free hand, they held the rope, waiting for Hannah to find another handhold for herself. Below them, the creek was quickly flooding and gaining its own rapids. If she’d fallen all the way, Hannah was sure she wouldn’t have survived the trip down the mountainside.

Hannah reached out and found a handhold, stilling herself long enough to calm down and manage her breathing. She’d lost her knife, but she should still be able to make her way up. They’d lost ground, but they were still moving. That was enough for Hannah.

Lightning struck twice more before they reached the top. This time, neither one of them lost their grip.

Hannah’s muscles and bones were screaming by the time she pulled herself over the ledge at the top of the ravine. Tears streaked her face, but the rain washed them away.

She took a moment to look over the edge of the ravine. The flood now moved swiftly behind them and would have undoubtedly washed them away if they’d tried to cross it now.

Hannah was relieved to see that the alien was as breathless as she was as they both sprawled on the ground trying to recover their arms and legs.

When she found her voice again, Hannah looked at the alien and asked, “What the hell is that thing on your arm?” When they continued to look at her blankly, she grabbed her own arm and pointed to theirs. “It was glowing down there. It looked like some kind of orange blade was coming out of your wrist.”

The alien continued to look at her blankly until she waved her hand and looked away. “Never mind. Not that I’d be able to understand you anyway, even if you could guess at what I’m asking. I don’t care right now. Whatever it is, I’m just glad you have it. I’d be at the bottom of this mountain right now if you didn’t.”

After another few moments of rest, Hannah pulled herself upright. The alien followed suit and took the pack from her shoulders. Hannah didn’t have the energy to argue. They still had miles to go.

She looked at the alien and after a long moment said, “Thank you.”

They flicked their mandibles, then the two of them made their way back into the trees and cover from the rain.

#

“I keep calling you _the alien_ in my head. I need to find something else to call you.”

They looked at Hannah, flicking their mandibles wide.

“How about _Stripes_?” Hannah drew lines on her own face, indicating theirs. “Yeah, I like Stripes. It’s simple, easy to remember. I wonder what those mean. Is it some kind of rank? Social class or caste, perhaps? Maybe I’m thinking too much like a human.” She considered for a moment before continuing. “I’d tell you my name is Hannah, but I don’t suppose you understand me enough to use that information. It just feels odd not to have names.”

It had been hours since they’d pulled themselves out of that ravine, and it was getting late in the day, darker than yesterday due to the cloud cover. Even in the cool humidity of the forest, she was sweating from the pace they’d set. Hannah wanted to pull her hair back into a knot, but her shoulders protested and she had to give up the effort. The best she could do was braid it into a loose rope and let it hang over her shoulder.

She had unzipped the top part of her flight suit and tied the sleeves around her hips. Except for a black sports bra, she was bare above the waist—a state of undress that normally would have given her pause in unknown company. Stripes wasn’t human, though, and that seemed to mitigate her usual sense of modesty. With her skin bared, she finally got a good look at the dark purple bruises covering her shoulders and ribs. It was no wonder even the light feel of fabric was enough to irritate them. The movement of air on her skin instead was a relief.

Hannah didn’t spend the whole time talking. Maybe about ninety percent of the time—just when she started to think too much about Michael or Alli. Or both. It had been more than a day since she and Stripes had crash landed on the planet’s surface. There was no way for her to ascertain whether the siege was ongoing or if it had been successful, but she continued to hope for the latter. Michael was either dead, alive, or still fighting, and there would be no knowing one way or another for at least another day. Talking to Stripes helped, even if they never did more than flick or flare or dip their mandibles in response.

Stripes had taken point since the ravine, which suited Hannah just fine. Her breathing had been labored for hours now, and the pain was starting to make her dizzy. There were several different kinds of pain killers in the emergency pack, but Hannah was reluctant to take them. One required food on her stomach (something she didn’t have enough of), another dehydrated her (drinkable water was already at a premium), and the third kind made her sleepy and dulled her senses (senses she would need in this unfamiliar terrain). She also had some vita-gel packs, and if she’d been bleeding out, they would’ve had some use. For broken bones and bruises, they were useless, so she was just going to have to grit her teeth and get through the next day of walking.

For as much as she tried to cover her discomfort, though, Stripes appeared to pick up on it. Maybe something changed in her voice, or maybe it was just that plainly obvious on her face, even to an alien. But when Stripes turned back toward Hannah, they stopped and reached for one of the water bottles and handed it to her. Hannah took it and drank carefully, trying to avoid gulping or drinking too much at once. The taste of iodine was strong, but she didn’t care. She just needed something to help her cool down.

Stripes swept their arm toward the ground and took the pack from their shoulder.

 _Clear enough_ , thought Hannah as she dropped to the ground.

“Son of a bitch!” she winced when she realized dropping to the ground wasn’t the best decision.

Stripes took a few steps away and began scanning the perimeter. _Ever the soldier_ , Hannah thought.

Hannah took a few more sips of water as she watched Stripes. “You know,” she said at last, “there is no way we should be here right now. It was your plan to obliterate us both, and you almost did it. The only reason we weren’t is because Rosie hacked your ship, and I’m still at a loss as to how exactly she was able to do that. The likelihood that two species from completely different backgrounds—in terms of evolution, culture, technology, and just about every other way—would have computer systems similar enough to communicate so that one can hack the other with no previous exposure is, well, astronomical. Right? I mean, Rosie was a smart bird, don’t get me wrong. First of her kind. Based on all that tech they found on Mars. But smart enough to hack an alien ship? I have my doubts.”

Hannah thought for another moment before shaking her head. “No, it’s not just astronomical. I’m going to go with functionally impossible. The only way Rosie could’ve hacked your fighter is if they had the same logic base. And the only way . . .” Hannah snapped her attention on Stripes—another mistake that shot another bolt of pain straight through her. “Are you protheans? _Shit_. We thought your people were extinct!”

Stripes held a steady gaze on Hannah, their mandibles flaring. She dearly wished she knew what those expressions meant.

Hannah shook her head again. No, those prothean ruins were over fifty thousand years old. If the protheans were still around, why wouldn’t they be there anymore? Mars had been arid and had lacked an appreciable atmosphere for much longer than fifty thousand years, so an environmental cataclysm wouldn’t be a pushing factor. And why would they have gone to all the trouble to leave almost—but not quite—nothing left? No roads, no schools, no water systems, no homes, no marketplaces—nothing civilian. But a beacon? An archive? What use would there be in dismantling everything innocuous but leaving all those sensitive artifacts just lying around where anyone with a mind to look for them could find ithem? So they left slowly and purposefully, but not necessarily with the intention of not being found. Why leave at all? Maybe they weren’t the ones doing the dismantling. A conquering army, maybe? That still left the question of why they would leave behind tech caches lying around the place where anyone could find them. And why wouldn’t the conquering army stick around and take advantage of the readymade infrastructure? If there had been a conquering army, why was there only evidence of the protheans and not of them?

Too many questions. It was all above Hannah’s pay grade.

“No,” she said at last. “Not protheans. But you got your tech from them, or at least you base the tech you have on what they left behind. Just like us. _Damn_. How spread out were they? The chances that two different civilizations would be influenced by the same dead one, at least technologically, is, well. We’ll go with _not impossible_ , since they left those relays behind. But still damn _near_ impossible. I wonder how many others there are. I suppose it’s possible that it’s just us, but then it’s _still_ an awful waste of space, isn’t it?”

She replaced the cap on her water bottle and handed it to Stripes, who clipped it back to the pack. “All of this is beyond me,” she said as she tried to ease herself off the ground, which was easier said than done. “I just fly my bird and try not to get shot down. Much good I’ve been at that. I’m probably way off base anyway. We still have a few more hours we can walk before it gets too dark to see. Should we press on? Tally ho, and all that?”

A piercing, burning pain shot through her at that moment, and Hannah nearly doubled over. It took a moment, but she regained her composure and slowly straightened her back as much as she could. That tumble down the ravine wall must’ve knocked something even more out of place. Waves of nausea broke over her, but she managed to keep it all inside.

Stripes was watching her, much as they always did, with a constant, unblinking gaze. After a moment, they set the pack back on the ground, pulled out a ration bar, and handed it to her. Hannah took it, but carefully, afraid the shake in her hands would be too obvious. They pointed to the ground then went back to the pack and pulled out the lean-to.

“No,” Hannah said firmly. “Do you understand _no_? We still have hours to go. If we stop now, that’s just more time we have to make up on the back end. It’s better if we press on. I’m fine. I can keep going.”

Stripes stepped toward her and put their hands on the sides of her ribs. Even their light touch was enough to send another jolt of pain through her.

Hannah set her jaw and looked up, holding their steady gaze. “It doesn’t matter. I’m a soldier. I have an objective. Everything else is just noise.”

Stripes put more pressure on her ribs and the pain burned hotter. She clenched her teeth and continued to hold the gaze. “We should hurry, then. Not stop. The pain’s only going to get worse the longer we’re out here. Unless you plan on carrying me when I can’t walk anymore?”

They took their hands and wrapped them around the one of hers that held the ration bar. They went back to the pack and unclipped the water bottles. One was empty, and the other was nearly spent. Without so much as a mandible flick, they turned back into the forest and disappeared into the trees.

 _Fine_ , Hannah thought. _But I won’t be useless_.

She ground her teeth against the pain and went about setting up the camp for the night. The rain had eased somewhat, but it was still steady, and the cool drops were heaven on her hot skin.

#

Hannah was more relieved than she could express when the dark of night finally surrounded them and the temperature dropped by a handful of degrees. The rain kept up its steady pace, but her lean-to did a decent job of protecting her and of catching the heat from the fire they'd managed to build and cover. Stripes stood in the rain, apparently on watch. Hannah had no idea what they could be watching for, but didn’t have the energy to think about it.

Drowsily, Hannah pushed herself as far back into the shelter as she could then patted the ground beside her. “You can use my lean-to if you want, Stripes. You’re going to get pneumonia standing out there like that.”

Stripes seemed to ignore her, but even in the daze of coming sleep, she noticed when the alien sat down beside her under the shelter. She would’ve chuckled if she wasn’t so sleepy.

This evening, with the rhythm of raindrops to lull her, she fell asleep quickly. She woke once during the night with a wet coughing fit, but mostly, she slept without stirring.

When she woke the next morning, she noticed that the rain had stopped and saw that Stripes was pacing back and forth, their flight suit dark and soaked through. When they saw that she was awake, they knelt down and put their hand against her forehead. There were streaks of red on the palm of their hand. She didn’t remember seeing that bit of color yesterday.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s damn hot on this planet, though. Damn humid from the rain.” She shivered. “Or maybe it’s cold. Sorry. I’m just tired still I guess.”

She started coughing again. It stung her insides, and it seemed that no matter how much she breathed, she couldn’t get a breath deep enough to abate the dizziness she felt. She didn’t care about any of that as long as she got a little rest. “Just give me a minute,” she mumbled. “We can go soon.”

#

When Hannah opened her eyes again, Stripes was leaning over her, their arm glowing orange again and passing over her slowly. When they stopped, a display popped up. They seemed to consider what they saw there for a long moment, then let out a low rumble and brought up a different display. After a moment, they spoke into their arm. A moment later, another voice—automated and feminine—spoke in words Hannah could understand.

“Hannah, can you hear me? Can you understand me?” they said.

Hannah nodded and winced at the movement.

Stripes spoke again into their arm, and again the voice followed once they had finished. “I need you to rate the pain on a scale of one to six.”

Her eyes closed again. Talking was too much, but she held up one hand, extending five fingers.

She started to slip again into the fog of sleep, but then the alien— _Stripes_ , she reminded herself—shook her gently and held the first-aid kit in front of her. The kit was open, and Stripes seemed nonplussed. Was it possible for these aliens to look nonplussed?

“I think you have a fever, Hannah, but I can’t tell which one of these medicines will help bring it down. I need you to show me which one you need.”

Hannah took a hand, surprisingly heavy, and pointed at the bottle of pills that didn’t need food and didn’t need water. She started coughing, but it was a distant feeling, painful but as if it were happening to a different body. When she had finished, she opened her eyes and noticed that the ground was redder than she remembered. She felt something on her tongue and pressure on her throat. She felt Stripes swipe a finger across her chin and cheek in much the same way Hannah had wiped away bits of food from Alli’s face on occasion. Did she have something on her face?

It took only about a minute for the pain to ebb and for the throbbing in her head to subside a little.

It was easier to stay asleep after that. They could get moving again in no time. Just a little more sleep was all she needed.

#

Hannah knew something was wrong when she thought there were more than one Stripes. A number of them were bent over in what looked like exhaustion. One or two stood a little straighter and saluted the original Stripes. Some of them even had spikes on their heads. Maybe that’s why some of them had different helmets in the recordings. Why so spiky?

“This human is a prisoner of war,” Stripes said. The voice she could understand was near her ear, and Hannah noticed vaguely that her own arm now glowed orange. “I expect her to be treated accordingly.”

“Yes, ma’am, Major Ravaka,” said one of the other Stripes, this one with spikes on their head. That Stripes had a face with a complicated white pattern on it, and she could see every line when they looked at her at the sound of the automated voice. “Is it wearing your omni-tool, ma’am?”

“Clearly, Lieutenant, she is. Now please focus. We need to get in touch with her people,” Stripes ( _Major Ravaka?_ ) said. “They’ll know how to treat the infection.”

“Not an option ma’am,” said the other Stripes. “They only just stopped pursuing us about an hour ago. I’m not going to risk anymore of my squad to deliver one of their own back to them, and no damned treaty requires me to do so. Ma’am.”

Hannah knew a few officers who came up through enlistment and might be able to rival the inflection on that last word—a breath away from insubordination—but not many. She’d have laughed if she could breathe.

Stripes nodded. “Then we’ll have to take care of her ourselves. They’re levo and they appear to have a skeletal structure similar to the asari. This one’s ribs are broken and her lungs have been punctured. Get her stable until we can get a levo specialist,” Stripes said.

The Stripes with the spikes shrugged. “I can’t make any promises, ma’am. It looks like she’s bleeding internally, and our medi-gel is dextro-specific. If we use it and it turns out she’s allergic, we could kill her.”

“Get her to the Citadel if you have to.”

“I don’t think Octavus is going to divert a whole cruiser to get one POW to the Citadel, ma’am, and it’s beyond our responsibility to do so. Even if we could, not even Alune Memorial would know what to do with a human.”

“We’ve been on this planet a month, Lieutenant,” Stripes snapped—growled even. “Do you mean to tell me we’ve learned nothing about them in that time?”

“No, ma’am. It’s just that—”

“You have your orders. Make it happen. If she dies, I’ll see it remarked in your permanent record. You have thirty minutes until an extraction shuttle gets here. Are we clear?”

There was no more conversation after that, and Hannah drifted away again.

#

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she noticed was how white the trees were. Hadn’t they been black before? When she turned her head, she saw Stripes sleeping in a chair next to her. It was the chair that surprised her. Why would there be chairs in the forest?

“Stripes?” she managed. Her voice was rough and felt like she hadn’t used it in a while.

Their eyes shot open and they sat up faster than Hannah had been expecting. Without speaking, they stood and held up their arm, which started glowing orange again.

“Dr. T’Oriza,” they said into their arm, “please report to Med Bay. The patient is awake.”

Hannah coughed, but the pain in her chest didn’t seem quite so pronounced anymore. “Stripes?” she said again.

They flared their mandibles. When they spoke, it was like she heard two different voices again, and only one of them she could understand, but there was no delay this time and the voice didn’t seem automated. “It’s Major Odessus Ravaka, actually. But you can call me Stripes if you prefer it. Don’t try to move, by the way. You’re bound to the bed, but more importantly, you’ll hurt yourself if you try. Personally, I thought the restraints were superfluous since you’ve been unconscious, but that’s protocol.”

Hannah heard a whooshing sound from somewhere on her other side. She turned her head toward the sound and saw a blue woman walking through a doorway. No. Humans weren’t blue, and the alien walking toward her had something that looked like short tentacles on their head and indigo tattoos around their eyes. They smiled like a human, though.

“It is good to see you awake, Hannah,” they said, pulling off one glove and pressing a blue hand against her cheek and forehead. “I was starting to worry about you.”

“Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard,” she corrected the blue person. “Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325. My captain—Captain Viet Tran of the Alliance carrier _SSV Feynman_ —will want to know my status.”

The two aliens shared a look before the newcomer answered. “I am Dr. Sana T’Oriza. I have been your attending physician since you were brought aboard the _Honorable_. You have been a crash course in human physiology, so I hope you will forgive me if it took some time to figure out what to do with you. Lucky for you, humans seem to be roughly analogous to my own people when it comes to some of the more vital parts.”

Hannah closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Where am I?” she said. “How do you know English?”

Stripes—Major Odessus Ravaka—pointed to the side of their head. “You needed a better translator than the one on my omni-tool, so I had Dr. T’Oriza give you a subdermal one. I hope you don’t mind. And you can keep that omni-tool if you like. I have others.” They held up their arm and let it glow to demonstrate the point. “We worked out translation programs for quite a few human languages within a week or two of pacifying the colony. Protocol, really. Nothing a standard xenolinguist worth the title couldn’t figure out, especially when your people have already gone to the trouble of recording so many of them. At least you communicate vocally, and not through pheromones or bioluminescence. And like the doctor said, you’re aboard the _Honorable_ , the turian cruiser your people attacked.”

Dr. T’Oriza shot Stripes a look that would’ve seemed disapproving on a human face. “We will discuss some of your verbs later, Major.”

Hannah shook her head. Why was everything still so fuzzy? “We couldn’t take you out. I mean, we could and I think some of the captains lobbied for a full blitz, but the admiral is a smart woman. I think she knew we couldn’t predict what the response would be to completely destroying an alien ship. We just needed to get your comms offline so we could root you out of the colony.” After a moment, she opened her eyes again. “Wait, your . . . your omni-thing helped me understand you? And now I have a translator?”

They pulled their mandibles in against their face and seemed to straighten their posture. “The omni-tool isn’t really meant for translating, but it worked for our purpose. I gave it to you primarily to monitor your vitals. The translation tool was a secondary concern.”

Hannah shook her head again. “So, what? You already had a translator with one of those programs? You could understand me? The whole time? Everything I said?”

Their mandibles flicked, and they ducked their head. “You talk a lot for someone in hostile territory.”

“I wouldn’t have talked so much if I thought you could understand me.”

“Why would you assume I couldn’t understand you?”

Hannah frowned. At least she hadn’t said anything sensitive. She didn’t think. “Am I a prisoner, then?”

Stripes nodded then shook their head. “Only until we can get you healed and arrange an exchange with your people. My superiors don't currently agree with me on what constitutes timeliness for such an arrangement, but I think I’m making progress.”

“Or you could tell the Council,” Dr. T’Oriza interjected with some heat, “and this whole affair would come to an end.”

“That’s not my call, Sana. Colonel Octavus was perfectly within his purview to keep the humans from activating a dormant relay.”

Dr. T’Oriza seemed to sneer. “Was he _perfectly_ within his _purview_ to make first contact with a new race without Council approval? And to have that first contact be a martial one?”

Their mandibles pulled tight against their jaw. “It was a discretionary call. Or perhaps you would have preferred we let them use the relay to let something like the rachni through again?”

“Does Michael know I’m here,” Hannah asked, ignoring both of them and bringing the conversation back to information she could parse.

Stripes looked back at her and ducked their head. “Your people have reclaimed the colony for the time being, but not without casualties on the ground. That’s all I know. We don’t have any names for the human KIAs. You’re the only human POW on this ship, but no contact has been made with your people yet.”

Hannah’s throat closed and her chest tightened. She felt a burn behind her eyes and suddenly the room seemed to spin very quickly. “I’m tired,” she said, her voice breaking and betraying her. “I think I need to sleep.”

Stripes and Dr. T’Oriza exchanged a brief glance, the obvious disagreement between them cooling. The doctor put a hand on her shoulder and said, “I will give you something that should help.”

As the doctor took a syringe and infused some new clear liquid into her IV, Stripes took her hand and squeezed it. “I thought you might want this,” they said, taking up something from the nightstand and pressing it into her hands. Her tablet. “It fell out of your flight suit while we were transporting you, but I made sure it didn’t get left behind. I’m pretty sure you’d have kicked my ass if I’d lost it.”

Hannah didn’t know whether to smile or sob, so she did both. Stripes switched it on, and soon the sound of Alli’s heartbeat filled her up. It was slow and even, so she was probably sleeping. If she wanted to, Hannah could almost feel her little girl’s small, warm body pressed against her as she snored quietly and twitched to her dreams.

Stripes gripped her hand one more time. “Sleep, Hannah. Get better. We’ll figure out next steps later.”

Whatever Dr. T’Oriza put into her IV worked its magic. The world went black, and for a time, Hannah didn’t have to think about Michael not being in it.


	4. Chapter 4

After waking up in Med Bay, Hannah slept often but fitfully. The pain killers Dr. T’Oriza gave her took the edge off, but there was still an inexplicable hollowness that pressed down on her where she knew the pain was supposed to be.

Sana checked on Hannah every few hours and brought small meals. “I do not know what humans eat, but this should be safe,” she explained the first time. “I ran an allergy test on you while you were still under stasis to be sure, and you seem to have very few, even to dextro proteins. Even so, your body may reject it, depending on how sensitive it is to foreign foods. This is _kalara_. It is considered bland by asari standards, but it is highly caloric and rich in levo proteins.”

As it turned out, the sage-green, porridge-thick substance was bland by human standards too. Even so, waves of nausea crashed over Hannah shortly after she finished the meal. Sana had prepared a syringe full of something clear and quickly administered it to the IV port in Hannah’s arm. The need to vomit soon passed, and she felt her muscles start to relax.

Breathing heavily and shivering from the chill of the perspiration that had begun to bead on her skin, Hannah laughed weakly. “Now I understand why Stripes didn’t want any of my food on Shanxi.”

Sana nodded. “Odessus is as hearty as a varren. She has next to no allergies of any kind, except for a handful of fruits that are native and common to Taetrus and one family of antibiotics. However, your food would have done nothing for her, except possible harm. While she might have been unaffected by asari rations, human food would have been too foreign. She probably judged that being stranded in the wild on a strange planet with an enemy combatant was not the optimal place to risk dehydration and incapacitation.”

Hannah wanted to quibble over the _enemy combatant_ remark, but she suddenly found it difficult to corral her thoughts into coherent sentences. There must’ve been something in that medicine that took away the nausea.

Sana smiled sympathetically. “Rest, Hannah. The antihistamines should suppress the nausea while your body processes the nutrients.”

Each meal after that was accompanied by another syringe full of antihistamines waiting at the ready in case Hannah reacted badly to the food. It only took a handful of times before the nausea ebbed on its own, and the aid was no longer needed. She was sure she’d never be able to eat _kalara_ again without feeling at least a little sick, though.

#

She often dreamed of Michael. Sometimes they were back on the beach at White Rock, where they met. He’d come up to her, grinning like an idiot with his hands behind his back, offering to give her a dollar if she’d kiss him. She would roll her eyes playfully, but he was handsome and had strong shoulders and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. She'd consider making a pun on “loon,” but she would instead demand payment upfront. He’d tell her to close her eyes and hold out her hand. She would comply, but she’d hold her hand at shoulder level in case he turned out to be a creep after all. Then she’d feel something wet and sandy and _moving_ in the palm of her hand, and she’d start laughing as she threw the sand dollar back into the ocean. She’d open her eyes to see him puckering his lips like a fish and fluttering his eyelashes. She’d laugh again and shake her head. She wouldn’t kiss him that day, but she would kiss him that night.

Other sun-soaked dreams of Michael left her frustrated and damning the restraints at her wrists when she awoke.

Sometimes she’d dream about being in Rio de Janeiro again, but there was no Oceanic Flight Training for her or Interplanetary Combatives Training for Michael. Her dreams of Rio were more a series of sensations than events. The oppressive, humid heat. The loud streets and crushing traffic. The cool-but-not-cold, crystal-clear water. The bright, ethereal lights of the city that shimmered across the sea at night. The smell of fish and fried pork and cooked peanuts and a medley of sweet fruits wafting around her all at once. The alien movement of small arms and legs inside her. Waking from those dreams to the sterile, white-walled Med Bay was always jarring.

But her dreams were not always so pleasant. One that chased her—that nipped at her heels even during her hours of wakefulness—brought her back to that beach at White Rock.

Michael would be turned away from her, his silhouette stark against the dark, flashing thunderhead convecting beyond him, and he would be walking quickly along the shore. She chased and called after him, but her voice would always be whipped out to sea by the wind and pulled under by the pounding waves. He would never turn around. She would grow closer, but only incrementally, her feet always sinking farther into the sand. Why wouldn’t he turn around?

Before she could reach him, a pack of three dogs would come galloping out of the black, foaming, roiling sea with their sights set on Michael. She would call out to him again, but he still wouldn’t hear her. She would reach for her sidearm but find her holster empty. No matter how many times she dreamed this dream, no matter what she did, no matter how fast she ran or how many rocks she threw, the dogs would chase him down and sink their teeth into him, dragging him to the ground and tearing into his flesh. He would never even try to fight them off as his blood soaked into the wet sand and washed into the sea with the advancing tide.

Then Hannah would feel a small hand slip into hers, and she’d look down to see Alli watching as her father was torn apart. The tears would roll, fast and thick, down her cheeks, and she’d begin to wail. The dogs would look up in unison at the sound of her cries. Michael’s blood still matting and dripping from their muzzles, they would bare their teeth and sink low to the ground, ignoring their fresh kill and padding slowly and deliberately toward Hannah and Alli.

In one fluid movement, Hannah would lift her daughter into her arms, turn on her heels, and start to run the way she’d come. The dogs bounded ever closer, growling and snapping their long jaws. Their hot breath would begin to cloud around her in a thick miasma, and her legs would grow leaden. The black dogs would froth at the mouth and snap their long teeth at her. Then the lead dog would lunge, and she would wake up yelling and nearly falling from her bed, save for the restraints that kept her there.

Stripes had been there once when she woke up from yet another iteration of that dream, but she’d had the decency not to ask about it. It may have seemed like a small kindness, but Hannah couldn’t express her relief that she didn’t have to try to explain it. Eventually, she drifted back to sleep. Dreamless, this time.

#

“Good news, Lieutenant Commander.” Dr. T’Oriza smiled as she pressed her fingers into Hannah’s ribs, testing for sensitivity. “I should be able to discharge you in another forty hours or so.”

“Will they move me to the brig, then?” Hannah asked.

Sana nodded. “It is likely. I would not let that prospect trouble you. The major will see to it that you are treated well and respectfully. Not that you would have been mistreated without her intervention. Punishment for abusing a compliant prisoner of war is swift and severe in the Hierarchy.”

Hannah would’ve said the same of the Alliance when she was still a fresh recruit. Having been on the inside for some time now, however, she’d observed shades of gray in the way the military worked. It wasn’t corruption, not exactly. Not always, anyway. It was more like social capital: the more you had, the more freedom from oversight you could enjoy. She wondered if the turian military was the true meritocracy Sana and Stripes seemed to think it was, or if there might be a certain amount of selective observation they were encouraged to entertain.

“Have you ever been a soldier, Doc?” she asked.

She shook her head once, the corner of her mouth pulling down into a tight frown. “I had two older sisters who ran off to be mercenaries almost before their fringes finished drying. They got themselves killed fairly immediately, and it almost destroyed my mother. I was only forty when that happened, and the experience left me somewhat reluctant to follow in their footsteps.” She smirked. “I spent my maiden years learning how to fix people instead of how to kill them. I am not entirely without experience, though. I ran a clinic on a mining asteroid in the Terminus Systems for one hundred and eight years.” She paused and sighed. “Then . . . _management_ changed. It all worked fine, at first. We gave each other a wide berth for a while. I lasted another eighteen years, but we did not agree on a lot of issues. We parted amicably enough, though. We even owe each other a favor or two still.”

Hannah blinked. “Forty years old? One hundred and twenty-six years? How old are you, exactly?”

Sana chuckled. “I will be four hundred and thirty-six this year. Adjusting for when we are not off getting ourselves killed in merc bands like my dearly departed sisters, my people live an average of a millennium, the longest lifespan of any known race in Council space. The krogan come in a close second, though.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe they would live longer too if they did not join so many merc bands.”

“So what’s a civilian doctor like you doing on a warship like this?”

Sana smiled and tapped Hannah’s nose. “You mean other than bringing you back to full health?” Her smile faded and she seemed to turn toward her thoughts again. “Odessus is . . . family. Extended. She sent me a message almost as soon as their long-distance communication systems were functioning again. I came immediately, of course, but my ship is small and it still took forty-two hours to rendezvous with this ship from the Citadel. Meanwhile, you were in stasis. The stasis was effective for slowing the internal bleeding and your body’s metabolic processes, including the spread of the infection, but I needed to get you healing properly. There were a lot of risks involved. I chose to work within the stasis field instead of administering general anesthesia because I do not yet know precisely how to switch off the human central nervous system without doing so permanently. Thank the goddess you were already unconscious, but I still needed to work quickly. It was all guesswork—especially since trauma surgery is not my specialty, despite what every generation of Ravakas seems to believe—but it looks like it all worked out for the better. I cannot think of another time when Odessus looked quite as distressed as when I came aboard to attend to you.”

A dozen questions tumbled through Hannah’s mind, but she could only ask one. “Can turians look distressed?”

Sana’s smile returned, broad and genuine. “You will come to understand them better while you are here, I have no doubt. You seem to be responding to Odessus already.”

At that moment, the door to Med Bay swished open and Stripes stepped through it.

“Speak of the devil,” Hannah said, smirking.

Stripes paused and her mandibles dipped. “I’m not certain what I would say about the . . . _devil_? Bad Spirit?”

Hannah waved her hand dismissively. At least, she tried to. Her arm didn’t get too far before it reached the limit of its lead. “Never mind. It’s just an expression. Well, half of one, anyway. Means we were talking about you. Sana was regaling me on how you got her to come here.”

Stripes took a seat next to Hannah’s bed and sighed. “Our medical officers probably had the skill to help you, but we didn’t have the levo-based medical supplies you needed. Proper requisition channels, even ones reserved for emergencies, would have taken too long.” She flared her mandibles and nodded toward the doctor. “And I knew Sana here wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be the first asari to tinker on a new spacefaring race. How’s that paper coming, by the way?”

Sana chuffed. “My first responsibility is to help those in need, Major. If I did not come, the lieutenant commander would likely have expired waiting for the Hierarchy to respond.” She paused before continuing. “Another thousand words should do it. The University of Serrice _Journal of Xenobiology_ has already accepted it on abstract.”

The major’s mandibles flared again. _It’s like a smile_ , Hannah thought. _An amused one, I think_.

“If I’d done something like that,” Hannah said thoughtfully, “Captain Tran would’ve given me the dressing down of my life. An independent contractor on a military vessel? During a conflict? And without official clearance? I’d be surprised if he didn’t kick my ass back to basic.”

Sana glanced at Stripes, then returned her attention to Hannah. “It looks like I am finished here, Lieutenant Commander. I will be back later with some supper for you. It is _lavalla_ tonight.”

Once they were alone, Hannah turned back to Stripes. “Off duty for the day?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah. So they’re kicking your ass back to basic, then?”

Stripes waved a hand dismissively. “Paid administrative leave. It’s more about the principle. Colonel Octavus isn’t too keen on a subordinate using protocol to force his hand, but he and I seemed to have different definitions for _due diligence_.”

Hannah thought about that. She didn’t know turian military protocols, but she was starting to make some inferences. “Is that why you said I was a POW? So they’d be obligated to help me?”

Stripes nodded once. “When Sana hailed the ship, offering her services, he was required to let her aboard. He did try to put up as much red tape as he could, though. In the end, I suggested that the recording of his conversation with Sana would be less than flattering if the Council ever decided to put him under review for treatment of POWs.”

Hannah blinked and couldn’t think of what to say. “It sounds like you went to a lot of trouble on my account.”

Stripes started to shrug then seemed to change her mind and rolled her shoulders instead. “Not really. I just made a call. Sana did the work.”

“But you didn’t have to make that call,” Hannah insisted. “And you put yourself at risk, at least professionally, to make it. You could’ve just left me on Shanxi when your people found us.”

She stiffened and brought her mandibles in tight, holding her head a little higher. _Indignant maybe?_

“A Ravaka pays her debts. _Always_. Not many people have the chance to return the favor to the person who saved them.” Her shoulders and mandibles seemed to relax, and her expression softened. “And about that. I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

Stripes paused there, seeming to consider what to say next. When she didn’t offer more information, Hannah shrugged and held up her hands. “Trying to figure out what?”

She sighed. “Why did you helped me?”

“Oh,” Hannah said. She thought about what had gone through her mind in that moment. It really hadn’t been something she’d considered much at all. “I guess, well. I don’t know how it is with turians, but with humans, pilots are a bit . . . special. Maybe _different_ is a better word. Eccentric even. There aren’t many of us, relatively speaking, so we look out for each other when we can. You put up a hell of a fight, so it didn’t seem right for you to go like that—on the ground, trapped in your bird. Besides, it’s not like we were fighting just then. We may have to kill each other in the air, but that’s just work. On the ground, we’re people and people should help each other.”

Hannah wasn’t sure what sort of example she was setting for humanity—maybe she was making her whole species look weak. Given the chance to do it over, however, she was sure she would do the same thing again.

Stripes nodded, then shook her head. “But after you helped me, you thought I might kill you. As soon as I’d engaged my tactical cloak, I watched you arm yourself. Then you couldn’t sleep until I took a seat at the fire with you. It seems like it might’ve been easier for you if you’d left me behind to asphyxiate.”

Hannah chuckled. “I may be a doe-eyed soldier who helps hostiles, but I’m not stupid. And besides, if I’d let you die back there, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

Stripes shook her head. “There’s no way you could’ve known it would play out like this.”

“I guess not, but this  _is_ how it played out. As long as I’m still alive, I’m happy. No reason to look a gift horse in the mouth.” That one was on purpose. She watched and waited to see what “confused” looked like on a turian face—dipping mandibles and eyes shifting to the left. She smirked and explained, “Means not to question it when good things happen. Maybe not the best fit for every situation, but no idiom is.” She paused again, thinking again on what Stripes had said about repaying debt. “You know, technically, you’d already paid your ‘debt’ when you kept me from falling down that ravine. You could’ve left me on Shanxi with a clean ledger.”

Stripes grinned and shook her head. “We’ll call it habit, then.”

Hannah huffed. “I guess that means I have to pull your dumb, impulsive ass out of the fire one more time before we can call it square. So, by noon tomorrow, basically.” She grew sober as she pulled herself together to ask the more pressing question on her mind. “You haven’t heard . . . the Alliance hasn’t—”

Stripes shook her head. “No news. I don’t think Octavus has tried to reach out to them.”

Hannah nodded and closed her eyes. She let out a long breath. “I try not to think about him. It’s _easier_ when I don't think about him. This Schrodinger’s husband business is almost more than I can stand.”

Her mandible’s dipped. “What’s a Schrodinger’s husband?”

Hannah chuckled weakly. “Long story short, it means he’s both alive and dead until I can observe him in one state or the other. Schrodinger was the name of the person who articulated the concept of quantum superposition for humans, so I guess you’d have to be human to get the reference. Damn, I can’t even be clever here.”

She glanced at her night table, to where her tablet sat switched off. She hadn’t listened to Alli’s heartbeat since Stripes had first given the tablet back to her. With every thump, she could smell her hair, could hear her squealing laugh, could feel the warmth of her as she snuggled against Hannah after her evening bath just before bedtime. It had been nearly two month since she’d seen her last, and thoughts of Allistair were as heavy to carry as thoughts of Michael.

Stripes followed her gaze and flicked her mandibles. Her arm glowed orange as she said, “I think I’ve learned just about everything there is to know about your family, whether I wanted to or not.” She pulled in her mandibles and looked at her sideways in a way that looked mockingly reproachful. “How would you like to hear about some of my family? My brother and his bondmate just had their first child. They decided to be old-fashioned and not use the vats.”

When Hannah looked over, Stripes wore that amused grin once again, and there was the image of what looked like an exceptionally small turian with its arms and legs fringed in fine, pale green down hovering above the major’s wrist.

She smiled and inched her way closer to the the major to get a better look. Stripes might not have been able to bring her back to Michael and Alli just that moment, but she could offer a distraction. As she progressed through the images and told family stories with an unexpected flare, Hannah could feel her shoulders ease down and her posture soften, and soon, she even found herself laughing again.


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah felt she’d been an exceptional prisoner so far. No kicking and screaming. No threats (not that she had any leverage). No escape attempts (not that there was anywhere to go). Michael would be proud of her that she hadn’t lost her temper once the whole time; she hadn’t even bitten her lip. Gold stars across the board. Perfect ten. It helped that Stripes was the only one she ever saw, aside from Sana.

Med Bay’s narrow range of visitors and occupants actually had her curious. Where was everyone? Didn’t they have any wounded from Shanxi? Why was she the only one in Med Bay? Even if it was the case that Hannah was the only person on a rather large military ship to need medical attention—it seemed turians didn’t get headaches or have trouble sleeping or have occasional indigestion or suffer from any of the multitude of mundane maladies that humans did, if the emptiness of Med Bay were any indication—she would have at least expected that Colonel Octavus would want to speak with the only prisoner on his ship. The mild neglect of her had felt odd when she first woke up, and as her time continued in Med Bay, her isolation only compounded in its strangeness.

Not that she was complaining. She had no real inclination to interact with anyone other than Stripes and Sana.

As the hours ticked down to Hannah’s transfer to the brig, they seemed to grow longer, more restless. It was a relief when Stripes finally came to break up the monotony. Hannah smiled as the turian approached her and not for the first time felt how bizarre it all was. Only a few months ago, the word _alien_ referred either to the faceless, extinct protheans or to the imaginary little green and gray men with too-large eyes. Now, the Alliance and the Hierarchy were at war, yet here the two of them were—chatting as if Hannah weren’t handcuffed to her hospital bed and as if there were no larger concern between them than how she would handle the next meal Sana would bring her.

Hannah needed answers, so she grinned as Stripes approached the side of her bed and decided to ask. “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing your pointy face walk through that door, but I’m starting to think it’s just you and Sana driving this boat, and you’ve just got me fooled into thinking it’s a turian ship. I’ve yet to see proof positive that any other living creatures are aboard at all.” Stripes chuckled as she took her seat. “I would’ve expected to have had a roommate or two after Shanxi.”

The major looked slightly embarrassed, her mandibles twitching down and wide. “We’ve set up a temporary infirmary for crew elsewhere,” she said. “Somewhere away from you. I’d tell you not to take it personally, but . . . it’s personal. We lost a lot of good soldiers on Shanxi. You do have a guard posted outside your door at all times, but they're under strict orders not to interact with you. Octavus isn’t keen on anyone being in your company while you’re still classified as recovering, and he’s told everyone to stay away from you. I think he doesn’t want to do the paperwork if something _untoward_ were to happen to you at this stage.”

A cold fist clenched around her insides. It had been an attempt at levity, but Hannah didn’t feel particularly lighthearted about a ship full of hostiles who felt, well, _hostile_ toward her continued survival. She’d never been so grateful for the inconvenience of paperwork.

“Aren’t you in violation of that order by coming here?” Hannah asked.

She shook her head once. “I update Octavus on the status of your recovery.” She chuffed. “I think he sees this task as barely less than an official reprimand, but I’ve never had an easier assignment.” Stripes looked suddenly nervous as her glance shifted. “When they transfer you to the brig tomorrow, you should know that you’ll be reclassified as recovered. They’re going to want to interrogate you.” She paused, rolling one shoulder before continuing. “If they use who I think they’re going to use, it would be easier for everyone if you were forthcoming.”

Something in the way Stripes wrung her hands together told Hannah she wouldn’t like the interrogator. Sana’s reassurance that she would have nothing to worry about in the brig seemed even hollower now. “Who are they going to use?”

Stripes stood and started pacing, her mandibles twitching and her eyes refusing to meet Hannah’s. “We have two trained interrogators aboard, both first rate. The first, is a good soldier and an excellent turian.” A grin ghosted across her face but was quickly replaced by her sober expression again. “He goes on and on about doing things right or not doing them at all, which is normally mildly annoying but would work in your favor in this case. He’s not a pushover, though. I’ve seen him crack batarian slavers without raising even his voice.”

Hannah shifted uncomfortably at the words “batarian slavers,” but she needed to focus. Questions about the galaxy’s other inhabitants could come later. “Will he be my interrogator?”

Stripes shook her head quickly. “If you had any manner of luck, he would be, but I don’t think so. His bondmate delivered a pair of fledglings just before we shipped out on this tour, and he accepted a position with Citadel Security, pending the completion of his duties here.” _More questions for later_. “I imagine he thinks it’ll be more stable than patrolling the Traverse, and after the incident on Shanxi, I think he made the right decision. Octavus won’t assign a high-priority interrogation like yours to someone who’s leaving.” Here, she stopped, her back to Hannah, her hands twisting themselves into knots. Hannah shifted uncomfortably in her bed; the major’s nervousness was catching.

She swallowed and asked the question, trying to ignore the quickening thump in her chest. “Who’s the other one?”

Stripes sighed and turned around again, though she still couldn’t meet Hannah’s gaze. “His name is Vyrnnus. He doesn’t share his counterpart’s philosophy. He gets results, but he’s been known to play fast and loose with the rules before. I’m certain he won’t touch you, though.” She paused again and brushed a hand across the top of her head.

Of course Hannah would get Bad Cop as her interrogator. “Is that all?”

Stripes grinned again, but without any amusement. “Let’s just say he won’t _need_ to touch you. I suspect Octavus is counting on that.”

Hannah tried to digest what Stripes had been saying and to ignore the knot that was twisting in her stomach. “When you say I should be _forthcoming_ ,” she said at last, “I assume you mean I should offer up information the Alliance would give me the firing squad to thank me for sharing.”

Her mandibles flared, and she seemed about to say something else but stopped herself.

Hannah felt her face grow warm. “Is it the kind of _forthcoming_ that will get more people killed?”

She shook her head decisively. “It doesn’t have to be. Not directly, anyway. If you just gave logistical information. How many ships? How many troops? How many supply runs? How many depots? He should be satisfied.”

Hannah clenched her jaw. “And if I don’t know that information?”

Stripes chuckled humorlessly. “Even I don’t believe you don’t know estimates, Hannah. You’re a squadron leader. A squadron leader always has an idea about available resources. Especially when there never seems to be enough.”

She was having trouble keeping her hands from balling into fists. How could Stripes think she would give up any of this information? Did she expect so little of her? She shook her head and tried to keep the anger from rising in her voice. “You know I can’t do that. Even if I don’t have capital punishment to look forward to when I get back, I can’t give up the Alliance to the Hierarchy. I’d be turning my back on my whole race.”

Stripes finally looked at her, and her expression seemed lost, struggling. “His file has a lot of . . . accidents. During interrogation. I want to make sure you don’t end up in that part of his file.”

So there it was. Selective observation, indeed.

Who was this Vyrnnus to have what sounded like numerous abuses of power called _accidents_ instead? Moreover, what exactly was this conversation costing Stripes? What was she risking to warn her? Hannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try to quell the anger still building in her. She would’ve rubbed her face in her hands, but the restraints didn’t give her enough lead.

“Right now,” she began, “it looks like I have my choice of an accident-prone interrogator tomorrow or an unfavorable court martial ruling sometime in the future. For me, that choice is pretty easy—the one that includes my daughter being able to look me in the eye when she grows up. I appreciate you warning me, but nothing is going to change that choice.”

Stripes shook her head. “If you have an accident with Vyrnnus, your daughter might never see you again at all, let alone be able to look you in the eye.”

Hannah set her jaw and locked her gaze with the major. “If my choice is between never seeing my daughter again and seeing her be ashamed of me for the rest of my life, I know damn well which one is worse, Odessus.”

She looked as if Hannah had struck her, but she nodded. She started to respond twice but stopped each time. She took a deep breath and tried again for a third time, “The reality of the situation is that this conflict won’t end well for humanity. It can’t. Not unless there’s an entire galactic community supporting the Alliance that we’re not aware of?” Another poor attempt at levity. She continued despite Hannah’s icy glare. “The turian military is the strongest, best equipped, and most disciplined in the galaxy. Your cooperation with the Hierarchy would ultimately mitigate humanity’s losses, Lieutenant Commander. As distasteful as it sounds, you’re in the unique position of being able to help both yourself and your people.”

Hannah wanted to slam down her fist to punctuate her fury. Her restraints burned at her wrists, and it only stoked her anger further. Despite the slight waver in her voice, she remained calm as she spoke, “I suppose that’s what you would do? If our roles were reversed? You’d sell out your people? Ensure a quick defeat to minimize losses? Who cares what happens after it’s finished, as long as it’s done and over with fast, right?”

The major took a step back. Her mandibles wavered and her shoulders fell. After a moment, she sat heavily into the chair beside Hannah’s bed. She’d stopped twisting her hands, but she didn’t seem to be any more at ease. If a turian could look sick, she was currently the picture of it to Hannah. “No,” she said at last. “No, I don’t supposed I would. I just . . . I don’t want . . .”

She never said what it was she just or what she didn’t want, and the ensuing silence stretched between them, thick and disquieting.

Hannah’s gut twisted, but the grip was no longer one of anger. “Listen,” Hannah said at last, “we kept each other alive on Shanxi. It’s reasonable for people who rely on each other like that to feel a certain amount of fondness for one another. But we’re not down there anymore. We both have our duties, which will always be at odds as long as the Alliance and the Hierarchy are in conflict. I think it would be easier for both of us if we didn’t . . . I mean, we’re not really . . .”

She stopped, not knowing how to continue.

The major, however, seemed to have a knack for bluntness and nodded. “We’re not friends.”

Hannah bit the inside of her lip and shook her head once. “We’re not friends.”

“You’re right, Lieutenant Commander. You wouldn’t make such a bad turian, you know.” Odessus stood and pulled a datapad from her tunic, handing it to Hannah. “Take this. You’ll need to brush up on how the galaxy works. This should be a good introduction. I ran the translation program on it, so you should be able to read it without any trouble.”

Hannah looked at the bright blue lettering scrawled across the interface: _An Introduction to the Galactic Community: A Primer for New Client Races of the Turian Hierarchy_. She would’ve found the blatant bias of the title amusing if a sudden onset of nausea weren’t pressing down on her. She’d have to talk to Sana about that. Maybe the _lavalla_ hadn’t settled as well as she’d thought.

She looked up to thank Odessus, but the major was already walking toward the door.

“Don’t underestimate Vyrnnus,” she said without turning around.

The door closed behind her before Hannah could say anything.

#

The transfer was uneventful—bureaucratic, even. Hannah was surprised by the amount of paperwork they had to go through. First, Sana signed her over, vouching for Hannah’s full recovery. Then, there was the acknowledgement that Hannah had been treated fairly during her recuperation and allowed to regain full health. Then, she had to sign a form acknowledging the intent to transfer her to an incarceration unit on the lower decks, which would require a change in the nature of her accommodations. Once she was ushered to her cell (little bigger than a closet), she had to sign her acknowledgment that the transfer had taken place and that she was aware the change in her situation was indefinite.

She half-expected to have to sign a form saying she acknowledged her acknowledgement.

It was not lost on her that the turian rules of engagement for prisoners of war were minutely detailed and rigorously followed. She wondered how many litigious individuals haunted the Hierarchy’s past; her captors appeared to be well-versed in every permutation of martial interactions and to have a form template ready and waiting for any scenario. Perhaps Odessus hadn’t been wrong about how the Alliance would fare in a prolonged conflict with the Hierarchy.

#

It felt strange to be back in her flight suit (Sana must’ve washed it for her because the blood and mud stains were removed), but Hannah was glad to be able to walk even the handful of paces her cell allowed. It was a nice change from being chained to the bed. She was still rubbing her wrists, massaging their newfound freedom, even hours after her transfer had been completed.

It was in the middle of pacing that a turian she hadn’t met approached her cell and brought down the barrier field to let himself inside without preamble.

 _Ah_ , she thought. _Vyrnnus_.

He was tall—taller even than the major—and he loomed over her. The matte, tannish markings covering the top half of his face were so light, Hannah thought for a moment that he didn’t have any at first. She wondered if there were any turians who didn’t have facial markings at all, and if that meant anything. She started to make a note to ask Odessus about it later, then stopped herself. She hadn’t seen the major since their last interaction, and she didn’t expect to see her again except in an official capacity.

Hannah found herself scowling as the new turian entered her space.

He was well aware of the presence he commanded, she could give him that. He stood close to her and held his face inches above hers. She wanted to laugh bitterly up at him, but she thought that might end badly for her. Instead, she turned and sat on the edge of her cot.

“I’d offer you a seat,” she said, “but I don’t think my cell was designed for entertaining guests.”

His mandibles were still, and his gaze remained steady. Hannah suppressed a sigh. _I wonder if they have anything like poker_ , she though. _He’s got the perfect face for it_.

He moved until he was above her again, then paced back toward the cell’s opening. When he turned toward her again, his mandibles and brow plates remained still and expressionless. “Name and rank,” he said.

She didn’t hesitate. “Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

A small itch began to burn on the side of her neck, but she’d be damned if she would do something as personal as scratch an itch in this asshole’s presence. It would likely pass on its own if she ignored it.

“Where is the Alliance fleet based?” he asked.

 _No foreplay?_ she thought. _At least make a girl feel wanted before you ask her to fuck over her people_.

“Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

It was almost imperceptible, but his right mandible twitched. “How many worlds aside from Shanxi does the Human Alliance oversee?”

She resisted the urge to correct him— _It’s the_ Systems _Alliance, idiot_ —and answered again, “Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

The twitch was more prominent now, and the burning of the itch intensified. She _would not_ scratch it.

“How many ships were in the fleet that arrived at Shanxi?” he asked as if she’d answered his last question.

“Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

She would not scratch the itch. It burned now like someone had pressed hot metal to her skin, but she wouldn’t lift a single fingernail to it. Her shoulder, the traitor, twitched.

His mandibles flicked again. “How many supply runs does a single colony require to remain viable?”

“Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

Her jaw twitched, but she showed no other sign of discomfort. The turian’s mandibles were in a full smirk at this point.

“How many troops to a fleet?”

“Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

He hardly seemed to be interested in her answer. His questions were half-assed and uninteresting. He seemed bored even before she opened her mouth to respond. And the burn continued to grow.

He moved to speak, but she decided to preempt him this time. “Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard. Alliance Navy. Serial number 426784325.”

Her neck was aflame. _Fuck_.

His amusement had grown by the minute. He stepped forward and removed one of his gloves to reveal a three-fingered hand that ended in glistening, pointed, black talons.

As he closed the distance between them, he reached out his uncovered hand until she could feel its heat against her neck. He brushed the blunt curve of one of his talon against her skin, cool and soothing and directly against the burn.

The ever-increasing heat suddenly dissipated, and he brought his face even with hers. Hannah could smell the hot, biting spice of his breath and another scent she couldn’t quite place—ozone?—radiating from him. He breathed in deeply near her. “Good,” he said.

Then he turned and walked toward the entrance, replacing his glove as he moved away from her. As he walked away, he said, “Commander Vyrnnus. Hierarchy Cabalist. Number 67493287003. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard of the Alliance Navy. You can see to that burning on your neck now.”


	6. Chapter 6

The datapad Odessus had given her was preloaded with information but had no connection to the extranet. While she found the title amusing, she found it difficult to focus on the words in front of her. She did manage to parse enough of the chapter on omni-tools to hear Michael already going on and on about being able to overload an enemy’s hardsuit shields, but she started to get lost when she got to the chapters on the other species in Council space.

There were so many of them. The turians were just the tip of the iceberg—or maybe a better metaphor would be the tip of the spear, if this Treaty of Farixen was any indication. How was Hannah supposed to comprehend a race of jellyfish people that functioned, let alone moved, out of water—while maintaining their shape no less—and were somehow able to translate their bioluminescence into spoken language? Were the volus really the only race responsible for the stability of the entire galactic economy?

(Oh god. There was a galactic economy. What if the Alliance eventually joined it? Her and Michael’s savings were just starting to show some gains, and she didn’t want to see it inflated into oblivion as soon as this conflict ended.)

And what about this Council? For the size of the galactic community and the diversity of races, the Council seemed criminally small: one representative each from the asari, the turians, and the salarians, whoever they were. And species had to prove themselves before they could reach this echelon of representation? What did that mean? What did that process involve? Without a clear definition of what it meant for a species to “prove itself,” it seemed it was determined entirely by the whim of the members of the Council, who had an obvious interest in remaining as unchanged as possible for as long as possible. This wasn’t a democracy; it wasn’t even a republic. It was oligarchy.

With the Alliance already in conflict with the Hierarchy, what assurance did they have that they’d be treated fairly? Would the turian councilor—one-third of this governing body—remain impartial? Would they recuse themselves and leave the diplomacy and policy making to the other two? As optimistic as she normally was, Hannah was not fool enough to hope so.

She put her hand to the crook of her shoulder to stretch her neck and immediately regretted it. That mystery spot was still tender. It was a favorite for Vyrnnus. The thought of him turned her stomach, and she had to put the datapad away. She’d continue learning about the galaxy once she could put his face out of her mind again. She lay back on her cot and closed her eyes, waiting for the nausea to pass.

#

He’d come to talk to her a handful of times now, each time with that psychic burning thing he did. Each time, it started as a tickle and eventually grew to feel like all her cells were trying to tear themselves apart. Miraculously, she’d been able to keep her hands at her sides every time. She knew people like Vyrnnus; the moment she brought her hand to her neck was the moment it would get worse. He’d move to something else, something more painful.

She had no idea how he was doing it, and her only source of information was Sana, who continued to check on her. Hannah had debated asking her if turians were psychic or telekinetic, but the question sounded crazy even to her. She’d have to figure it out on her own.

Vyrnnus was definitely one for both theatrics and passive aggression. He would remove his gloves the moment he entered the room and rest his uncovered talons lightly on his thighs whenever he sat. He would feign a chill as a pretense to raise the temperature in her cell.

He hadn’t asked her any questions about the Alliance since that first encounter, but he loved to talk.

“It’s laughable that you humans force one retreat and you think you’ve won the war,” he would say and laugh derisively. “You have no idea who you’re up against.”

“I’ve been commanding troops longer than you’ve been alive, human,” he was also fond of saying, though she doubted he knew how old she was.

“You wear that trinket some humans do to show they have a mate,” he said during their last “interrogation,” pointing to the ring on her finger. “Such a primitive practice, showing ownership over another person. Are humans so faithless that you require even your mates to wear an external token to ward off other suitors? What about your mate? Was it faithless? Was it on Shanxi?”

She glared at him in silence, and he only smirked at her.

“I killed quite a few of your kind, both before and after your reinforcements arrived,” he continued. “You humans have so little variation that it’s hard to tell you apart, but perhaps if your mate had some distinguishing mark, I could tell you if I killed it. Give you some closure, yes?”

Hannah’s head was starting to hurt from how tightly she clenched her jaws, so she forced herself to relax those muscles. He didn’t know her age, and he didn’t know anything about Michael.

She began her typical response, “Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shep—”

Vyrnnus waved a hand dismissively, still smirking, “Indeed.”

He stood and paced the room. He started to move on to another subject when his glance fell on something that seemed to catch his attention, and whatever words he was about to say died on his tongue.

He pointed a long talon past Hannah. “What is that?”

She followed his gaze, and saw her tablet sitting on the small stand next to the head of her bed. She’d forgotten to turn it off when Vyrnnus had entered her cell; her attention had diverted immediately to preparing herself for whatever he planned to do. The screen was currently on an image of a pyramid in Teotihuacan, where she and Michael had spent their honeymoon. She felt her heart beat just a little faster.

He picked it up and looked at it. “I’ll ask you again, human. What is this?”

She could hear a lilt in his voice that sounded almost excited, and she knew where this was going. “Lieutenant Commander—”

He waved his hand again to silence her and began sliding through the pictures. The next was one she’d taken while she and Michael kissed in front of the pyramid. The next several were also taken on the same day, though the next was taken several years later—a side view of her growing stomach. She hoped without reason that he wouldn’t know what that picture meant. By the flick of his mandibles, she knew he did.

He held up the tablet and said, “This device is not approved for use by incarcerated persons, human. Possession of contraband is a serious offense on a Hierarchy ship.”

It took all of Hannah’s strength to keep her breathing steady, and through clenched teeth, she began again, “Lieutenant Comman—”

Without another word, he dropped the tablet. Hannah focused on her breathing as the screen flickered black. The casing remained intact, so she held onto the hope that the data was not lost.

That hope vanished when Vyrnnus brought down his foot—heavily—onto the device. The tablet cracked and shattered under his weight, and all Hannah could do was keep breathing.

Her neck seemed not to hurt so much anymore.

#

Thankfully, Vyrnnus was not her only regular visitor.

Sana came by three times each day to bring food and company and to keep a cursory eye on her vitals. Luckily, Hannah didn’t need to disrobe. Sana had cut Hannah’s bra from her when they brought her aboard, but even so, it wasn’t a sense of modesty that worried her. Vyrnnus had begun to work his way down her back along her spine, and she was working up an impressive line of hot and blistering burns. The pain had been blinding last time, and she may have lost consciousness for a moment. Her arms would twitch a couple of times at odd intervals since then.

She’d been in the brig for two weeks, and Vyrnnus still hadn’t pressed for real information. He seemed content to try to wear her down gradually before even attempting to ask her for what he wanted. He seemed to be under the impression that he had all the time in the world to break her.

What Hannah needed was a good long run. Just to clear her head. Her legs ached to stretch and burn, but she knew she would only end up injuring herself if she tried to run in the clothes she had. Her physical training time had been uncomfortable enough even during low-impact plank exercises. Flight suits weren’t particularly known for their ability to wick, and there was no way she could sprint for an hour without some kind of support. Not to mention that her boots would likely break her feet in half if she tried to run on a treadmill in them.

The next time Sana came by, she broached the topic of borrowing a bra.

Sana chuckled at Hannah’s request. “Asari only wear supportive underthings on two occasions: for reinforcement while nursing and for _special_ _occasions_ ,” she said. “We build support into our garments as a matter of course. I will loan you some activewear so that you can run.” She paused to look Hannah up and down and consider. “I would think that wearing a bra during high-impact physical activity would cause chaffing. Is that not a concern for humans with pronounced mammary glands like yours?”

Hannah rolled her eyes at the clinicalness of the question and smirked. “As long as it doesn’t have a seam or a hem, it’s fine. And I’d say I’m more average than _pronounced_.”

Sana hummed in thought and brought up the interface on her omni-tool to type a few notes. When she’d finished, she switched the program and started running scans on Hannah. “I am glad to see that humans use exercise to remain positive as well as healthy. I do wish Odessus would follow your example. She has been restless lately. She is no doubt apprehensive of her hearing regarding her administrative leave. Perhaps the next time she comes to see you, you could persuade her to take up a more rigorous exercise regimen.”

Hannah felt a slight pang in her chest—probably just embarrassment—but shrugged it off. She debated briefly how to respond and quickly settled on, “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

She had neither the energy nor the inclination to dive into that topic.

Sana’s brow suddenly creased, and she glanced up at Hannah. From where she sat, Hannah could see what was supposed to be her body floating above the good doctor’s wrist; where most of her body glowed blue with only faint lines outlining her internal organs, a small, angry red spot glowed near the middle of her upper back. Sana swiped her fingers across the interface, and suddenly the faint lines followed along the contours of her skin, and that spot grew into a chain. Sana’s expression went from concerned to alarmed faster than Hannah would’ve liked.

 _Shit_.

Sana pulled Hannah gently forward by her shoulder, pushed back the collar of her flight suit, and gasped.

“Hannah!” she said in a hushed voice as she pressed her fingers gently against the skin near the injuries. “These are warp burns. How did you get these?”

Hannah shrugged and pulled away from the doctor’s prying grasp, rolling her eyes.

“I walked into a door. How do you think I got them?” She paused, realizing what Sana had said. “Wait. You know what these are?”

“Who is doing this to you, Hannah? Whoever it is has clearly done it before. They have kept their fields fine and small enough to damage only the epidermis, and it takes an enormous amount of practice to gain that kind of control. They slipped, though. One field was too large or too strong and caused deep-tissue damage, possibly even nerve damage. I need to know who did this.”

Hannah sighed and shrugged. “The less you know about it the better, Sana. You knowing isn’t going to stop it, and if you tell anyone, chances are they already know and it’ll just make it worse for me. He’ll just get trickier and more vicious, mark my words. If you can treat the burns, fine, do that. But that’s all you can do.”

Sana set her jaw in an angry line and nodded. “Vyrnnus?”

Hannah shrugged and looked away from the asari.

“Does Odessus know about this?”

Hannah shrugged again. “Probably. Or something like it.”

From the corner of her vision, Hannah saw Sana switch to a new program on her omni-tool and start to type something. She’d gripped the asari’s wrist, and the interface disappeared. Surprised, Sana took a step back, and Hannah released her hold, shaking her head. “Don’t,” she said. “She has enough to worry about. The hearing and all.”

The doctor looked as if she’d just moved the last piece to a puzzle into place and nodded. “Of course, Lieutenant Commander, you are right. We should let her concentrate on those matters that are most important to her at the moment.”

Sana said nothing else for the rest of her visit. She spread a cool salve against the burns and fumed in silence. At one point, while Sana leaned over her neck, Hannah thought she saw a faint blue light shimmering over the doctor’s skin, but she dismissed it as just a reflection from the barrier at her cell’s entrance.

Several hours after Sana had left, one of Hannah’s guards stepped through the door with a bundle of clothes and left them on the edge of her cot without once looking at her. She would’ve thanked him just to get under his skin, but her attention was drawn to a small datapad atop the pile. She picked it up to read the note Sana had left for her.

_I have adjusted your schedule for tomorrow so that I may observe your fitness levels for my paper. Octavus is aware and has cleared it._

Hannah wasn’t sure whether to shake her head or be impressed, but it was good to see that humans didn’t have the galactic monopoly on gumption.

#

The shoes Sana brought her did not seem like they would fit her at first. They seemed small, smaller even than Sana’s feet, which were themselves smaller than Hannah’s. But after learning of the space magic of omni-tools, the space magic of medigel, and the everyday magic of telekinetic aliens, she decided to give it a shot and try them on. She huffed when they stretched and slid easily around her heel and molded to her arch. _Of course it fits perfectly_ , she thought. _The galaxy is made of magic_.

Once she was dressed—she could get used to the firm, breathable support the asari tailored into their clothes—Sana took out the pale blue runner’s tape and began to adhere it to her legs. This wasn’t something Hannah usually did back home, and the sensation was strange, like long fingers holding her muscles in place.

Sana smirked at her when she stood up. “I am used to seeing this color on my skin,” she said. “It is odd to see the contrast against yours.”

Hannah chuckled. “Yeah, well, between you and me, I’m not looking forward to the contrast that’ll happen after I take this tape off.” Hannah hadn’t missed having smooth legs this much since basic. She was sure Michael would laugh at her and tell her to go through ICT then come talk to him about luxuries like shaved legs.

As they left her cell, Sana turned to the guards with what was clearly a prepared statement. “Colonel Octavus has entrusted her into my care until my examination is complete. To maintain doctor-patient confidentiality, you are not permitted to follow us.” The guards exchanged a glance, and one seemed about to respond when Sana lost her patience. “Just call him to verify and let us get back to our schedule. We are already pressed for time as it is, and I have no patience for your dallying.”

The two guards seemed to straighten at the tone in her voice and nodded. Hannah had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing, and when they were out of earshot, she turned to Sana and smirked. “I’d never have guessed you were a social engineer, Doc.”

The asari did not meet her gaze and only continued on toward the gymnasium. “I do not know what you mean, Lieutenant Commander. If they had called the colonel, he would have corroborated my claim. I told him it was the least he could do to give you an hour or two of privacy after your treatment. He did not agree with me. At first. I think he changed his mind when I asked him for guidance on how to describe my services rendered on my invoice to the Hierarchy: medical treatment or aiding and abetting abuse of power. He seemed more amenable after that.”

Hannah stopped walking. “Sana. You didn’t.”

Sana stopped as well. “Of course I did, Lieutenant Commander. You are my patient, and I have a responsibility to keep you healthy and unharmed.” She stopped and brought up the interface for her omni-tool. “Vyrnnus is currently receiving his formal reprimand, and the colonel has synced his ‘tool’s signal to mine. He will not be able to come near you without my knowledge.”

Hannah shook her head and took a deep breath. “Shit. I had everything under control, Sana. Things could go sideways really quick.”

The asari turned and began walking again. “A simple ‘thank you’ would have sufficed, Lieutenant Commander. Come along. Our time is limited, and Octavus said he would not hesitate to sound the alarm if you are not back to your cell at the time we agreed upon.”

#

Hannah could feel the tension begin to leave her shoulders as soon as she started to run. This was everything she needed. The burn, the heat, the sweat. Sana timed her, tested her, pushed her. She changed the speed and the incline and the time. She took her pulse and her blood pressure. She even drew a small vial of blood, even though Hannah wasn’t sure how that could be relevant.

By the end of it all, she had no idea how far she’d run, but Hannah felt a little more like herself. Every muscle ached and her fingers tingled. Her neck and back were slick with sweat; her face felt hot and was probably red as a beet. She couldn’t help but smile as her breathing and her heartbeat slowed to their normal pace.

Her grin, however, froze and faltered when Odessus entered the gym.

She looked smaller in her loose active clothes, out of her light armor. She was currently wrapping her wrists and hands in what looked like tape, but she paused after only half a dozen steps into the room. She lifted her gaze from her hands and looked in Hannah’s direction, then looked quickly away.

Hannah shot a glare at Sana, who looked completely unsurprised. “By the goddess,” she said, sounding almost bored. “It is almost as if Athame herself arranged this chance meeting because she thought the two of you should talk like reasonable adults.”

Odessus shook her head and finished wrapping her hands. She took a stance in front of a boxing bag hanging several meters away from Hannah. “We did talk like reasonable adults, Sana. No one’s feelings are hurt. We’re not mad at each other. But the more contact we have, the more difficult our lives become. I have my duty, and she has hers.”

Sana continued to look unimpressed and didn’t even lift her gaze from her omni-tool’s interface. “Indeed,” she said. “That does sound reasonable. Have the two of you also discussed the content of Hannah’s interrogation sessions with Vyrnnus?”

Hannah crossed her arms and shifted her weight to her back heel. “Your meddling is growing steadily less tolerable,” she said then turned to Odessus. “She wants me to tell you about the warp burns, or whatever she calls them, that Vyrnnus gives me.”

Odessus hesitated in her assault against the swaying bag, her mandibles pulling tight against her jaw. She glanced at Hannah, then returned to boxing with renewed force. “Well, I did warn you.”

It was at that statement that Sana looked up from her omni-tool, genuinely surprised. “Pardon me?” she said, her cheeks coloring slightly. “Odessus Ravaka. Are you telling me that his abuse was expected?”

“Sana, I even told you the colonel knew about it,” Hannah said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Why do you think he was reluctant to do anything?”

Odessus paused and turned to Sana. “You told him?”

Sana’s glare could turn water to ice. “You did not?”

Before any of them could say another word, Sana’s wrist began to blink red. Odessus nodded toward the light. “Someone is trying to get your attention, Doctor.”

The asari looked down and gasped. “It’s him,” she said, walking quickly toward Hannah. “He’s within two hundred meters on this deck. He’s on his way here.”

“Why?” Hannah asked.

Odessus strode to Hannah and took up her wrist. “It’s a gym, Hannah,” she said as she brought up the omni-tool’s interface and navigated through the programs. “He’s probably coming down here to work off some steam. Especially if he’s just been reprimanded for doing the exact thing his commanding officer expected him to do without having to be told to do it.”

Hannah gasped when her arm disappeared. When she realized the rest of her had disappeared as well, she felt slightly panicked.

“Don’t say anything,” Odessus said, returning to her punching bag. “The cloak doesn’t dampen any sound you might make.”

Sana brought up another program on her omni-tool, and Hannah saw a series of characters constantly changing. “Get rid of him, Odessus,” she said, the urgency ringing clear in her voice. “Hannah has twelve minutes and forty-seven seconds before she needs to be back in her cell.”

She’d barely spoken the words when the door to the gymnasium opened and Vyrnnus walked quickly through them. Hannah’s heart began to race at the sight of him, and her stomach turned again. He paused midstride and lifted his gaze, his nose plates shifting to smell the air.

How strong was a turian’s sense of smell? Could he smell her from across the room if he tried? Or maybe it was the scent of the cloak itself. Hannah brought her wrist to her nose and breathed in quietly. She caught the weak scent of ozone and electricity, but she had no way of knowing how weak that smell might be to Vyrnnus.

Whatever it was that had stopped him seemed to pass out of his mind, and he resumed his trek across the room. Hannah moved quickly and quietly to keep her distance.

“You’re here early, Ravaka,” Vyrnnus rumbled as he approach another punching bag.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she answered shortly without looking over.

“I’m surprised you’re not checking in on that pyjack you picked up on Shanxi.”

The pause was nearly undetectable. Nearly. “She’s scheduled for sleep right now. Depriving a prisoner of sleep is against regs.”

The other turian rumbled and said something Hannah’s translator didn’t catch. “Should’ve left it on Shanxi,” he said when her translator recovered. “It’s an officer but it doesn’t rank high enough to know any critical information. There’s no place for useless refuse like that on this ship.”

“I guess you should have thought about that before engaging in armed conflict with the humans,” Sana said coolly from where she stood stretching on her side of the room.

Odessus shot her a look that silenced the asari, and before Vyrnnus could say anything in response to the jab, she offered her own reply, “Prisoners of war are a statistical eventuality, and protocol is clear on what to do with them. Hierarchy rules of engagement provide a place for Hannah on this ship.”

The other turian stopped and turned toward her, clearly more shocked by her words than Sana’s. “Plates gone dull, Ravaka? You’ve never been one for pets before. If I didn’t know better—”

He stopped and turned his head into the air, sniffing. Odessus kept her eyes on the bag in front of her, but Hannah saw her tense. The moment stretched out and filled every inch of the negative space in the room. Finally, his eyes lighted on Sana, and his expression changed to one of understanding.

He turned back toward his bag. “You need a shower, Doctor. You’re starting to smell like it.”

Odessus huffed. “As always, Vyrnnus, your repartee continues to be an inspiration. _It_ is a _she_ , by the way.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he growled. “It’s a menace, and the sooner we get those reinforcements, the better. They’ll be subdued within a month, mark my words. The humans need to be put down before they start another Rachni War.”

Here, Odessus paused and turned toward Vyrnnus. “What reinforcements?”

His mandibles twitched at an angle Hannah couldn’t parse. “What’s the matter, Major? Out of the loop? We’re on our way back to Palaven right now. The primarch has already promised support, provided we divulge the details of the engagement. Give it a month and the humans won’t know what hit them.”

Before either Odessus or Vyrnnus could say another word, an alarm tore through the air. She saw Odessus glance quickly in Hannah’s direction. Luckily, Vyrnnus appeared to miss that movement. Nonetheless, he took a predatory stride toward her.

“What have you done, Major?”

Odessus stopped and moved herself away from him. “I’ve done nothing, Commander. Why would you think the alarm has to do with me?”

“Don’t play innocent, Ravaka! The pyjack has escaped, and you had something to do with, I’d stake my life on it.”

Odessus spread out her hands to indicate her ignorance. “I’ve been here with you. How exactly am I supposed to have aided and abetted an escape attempt?”

A blue corona enveloped Vyrnnus, and Odessus took two steps back. He took three steps into her space and leaned forward, “Where is it, Major?”

Odessus took one defiant step forward. “Retract your threat, sir. I have no idea what the alarm is about, but an escape attempt is preposterous. And again, I’ve been here. How exactly am I supposed to have helped her?”

He took another step forward, now just a breath away from her. After a long moment, he growled, low enough that Hannah’s translator almost didn’t pick it up, “I don’t believe you.”

Though he moved his arm, Hannah did not see his hand connect with Odessus. Nonetheless, she went flying across the room and crumpled on the floor a dozen meters away. Sana called her name, but made no other attempt to move, fear and confusion having apparently rooter her to where she stood. Vyrnnus made another gesture, and the air bent and distorted into a blue sphere that moved quickly across the room until it connected with Odessus before she could recover herself. She grunted and fell to the ground again.

“Fuck you, Vyrnnus,” she spat out breathlessly after a moment.

He strode forward and grabbed her by the cowl. “Where is it, Ravaka? Not even a human is stupid enough to try to leave the ship in the middle of a vacuum. Tell me where it is.”

Odessus moved quickly, and Hannah wasn’t sure what she’d seen. Suddenly, Vyrnnus was bent over and falling backward, her two-taloned foot wrapped tightly around the spur protruding from his leg and pushing downward with force. He cried out as he fell to the ground.

He threw out his hand again, and she crashed hard against the wall. This time, she didn’t recover quite so quickly, and a dark blue rivulet sprang from her nose.

He was crouching over her now, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees and grabbing her cowl to bring her face closer to his. His fist, clenched and raised, began to glow bright blue and spark. “Assaulting a superior officer in wartime. Sounds like treason to me.”

He brought his glowing fist down hard, and Odessus stopped moving after that.


	7. Chapter 7

Hannah sprinted across the room, the wailing of the alarm covering the sound of her footfalls, and grabbed Vyrnnus by one of his mandibles. She dragged him away from Odessus then threw him against the bulkhead, the sound of his appendage stretching to its limit almost sickening. She brought her foot down hard against his leg spur and took immense satisfaction in the howl that escaped him. Her cloak fell at that moment, and she reveled in his shocked expression.

That same blue corona glowed around him again, and he opened his mouth to speak. Hannah didn’t wait for him to say another word and instead swung her fist as hard as she could manage against the flat plane of his face.

This was a mistake that she immediately regretted, but only a little.

His face was much harder than a human’s, and her knuckles slid across his plates, catching the serrated edge of his teeth and slicing the flesh of her fist. Fortunately, the assault dazed him enough to keep him off balance. Blood was streaming through her fingers now, but she didn’t let that deter her. Before he could recover himself, she stood and brought her heel down on his face, heavily and with as much force as she could muster.

That seemed to do the trick, and he stopped moving for the moment.

Sana had found her feet and her voice again; she was kneeling over Odessus and holding open her eyelids to examine her pupils. She shook her head. “I do not understand. You still have ten minutes before you are due back in your cell. Why would the alarm sound?”

Hannah knelt beside Odessus and held her uninjured hand to the turian’s nose, felt the movement of air, and let out a relieved breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “It could have something to do with Octavus being extorted for ignoring abuse of a prisoner. And by an asari doctor he didn’t want on his hip in the first place,” she said, unable to keep the bite from her words. “No prisoner, no extortion. I can’t believe I thought it was a lucky break to lose my guards for just a little while. Stupid, Hannah!”

Sana’s eyes went wide then narrowed, the battle between confusion and fury evident in her shifting expression. “Do you mean the colonel means to have you killed because I approached him?”

Hannah slipped an arm under Odessus’s shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position before Sana could protest. “And he’ll justify it with protocol, even. God, I’m starting to hate that word. I’m sure he won’t lose any sleep if you end up more than a little worse for wear because of this little jailbreak for aiding and abetting me. Help me lift her. We need to get Odessus to your ship, and the three of us need to leave here right now.”

Sana moved to the other side just as Odessus groaned and blinked open her eyes, bringing a hand automatically to where the blood still flowed down her face. It took a moment, but she was able to turn her head and focus on Hannah. Before she could say anything, Hannah shook her head to stop her. “Let’s get you out of here first,” she said.

Odessus held back. “Wait,” she said and reached for Hannah’s wrist. “Bring up your cloak, and I’ll bring up mine. Sana, you’ll just have to try to not look suspicious.”

When they were standing, Sana stepped away and let Hannah support Odessus on her own. “My ship is docked a level up,” she said as they made their way to the door. “We don’t know how many troops are between here and there.”

They followed her into the hallway, hanging back enough not to run into her if she were to stop suddenly. So far, there didn’t appear to be anyone around, but Hannah knew that couldn’t remain the case for long. Unimpeded, they slipped into the elevator, and she let Odessus lean against the wall for the moment. The turian let her cloak fall and held out a hand for Hannah. “You need to let the program cool down for a bit. You don’t want the damn thing to drop in the middle of a crowd.”

Slowly, the lift came to a stop, and Odessus reached out to stop the doors from opening. She pulled up her omni-tool and a cluster of white dots appeared, each one appearing to move quickly and erratically.

“There are about twenty troops scrambling outside this door,” she said.

Of course. Octavus had concentrated them here, hoping Hannah (and whoever might be with her) would go directly here, overly confident from having been so-far unharrassed, and walk straight into a firefight. Twenty to one—even twenty to three—was not good odds for Hannah, even if any of them had been armed. But, she also had a guess that the colonel couldn’t exactly explain the rationale behind their unorthodox positioning. Maybe she could use that to their advantage.

Hannah held out her wrist for Odessus to bring up her cloak again and said, “Here, I have an idea.”

When they finally let the doors open, the scene was practically frantic with soldiers rushing into position. A group of soldiers waited immediately outside the doors of the elevator, and each one straightened to attention upon seeing Odessus standing before them.

“Ma’am!” one of the soldiers saluted as she stumbled out of the elevator with Sana beside her and Hannah following closely behind them under her cloak.

Odessus straightened and distanced herself from Sana, clearly attempting to regain some kind of composure, and waved away any offers for assistance. “Have you arrested the prisoner yet?” she said in her superior-officer voice.

The poor soldier looked slightly panicked. “No, ma’am! We were told to bunker down here and keep her from leaving if she tries to come here.”

Odessus growled. “She’s not here, Tryveka. She waylaid me on Deck 5, and I might’ve been able to stop her if there’d been any damn support down there. Do you know what will happen if she infiltrates the drive core? She could bring down the whole ship, soldier.” Tryveka’s fluttered her mandibles, obviously chastened, and looked away. Odessus softened her tone without lessening her command. “She can’t have gotten far. Take your team, and fan out on Deck 5. Catch the pyjack and put it back in its pen.”

The soldier snapped a salute and waved for her team to follow her.

There were still at least half a dozen other soldiers on deck, but none seemed interested in the major anymore.

Odessus turned to Sana, growling again, and in a voice loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, but not so loud as to draw attention, she said, “Get me some damn medi-gel, Sana. I need to get back to the search.”

Sana nodded and put a hand on the turian’s shoulder to offer support without suggesting weakness. The docking hatch to Sana’s ship was only twenty meters away.

They were only halfway down the corridor when a rumblig voice came over the intercom. “The pyjack is on Deck 4 and is attempting to escape through the asari doctor’s ship. Major Odessus Ravaka is facilitating the escape. Permission to apprehend with extreme prejudice granted.”

Hannah clenched her jaw but remained cloaked. _Octavus_. Of course he would know where they were.

The remaining soldiers turned in their direction and hesitated for only a moment before they lifted their weapons.

“Time to run,” Hannah said and urged them toward the hatch.

She put a hand on Odessus’s back to urge her forward, but it was unnecessary. They all fell into a sprint when the rounds began to fly. Hoping to obscure any shots aimed at the two in front of her, Hannah let herself fall a few paces behind. If the sudden hammer blow to her shoulder and the electric shimmer rippling across her cloak were any indication, she'd been successful.

Ahead of them, the airlock to Sana’s ship began to close. Two steps later, Odessus ducked down and barrel-rolled beneath the door. Sana slid in behind her, but she was less graceful and needed to grab at Odessus's waiting hand to pull herself the rest of the way forward. Hannah didn't wait for Sana to clear out of the way; she rolled forward, feeling the coolness of the metal doors whisper against her skin. Odessus was already there with her other hand outstretched for Hannah to grasp and pull to her feet.

As soon as the doors dropped behind them, Hannah’s cloak dropped and she scrambled the rest of the distance into Sana’s ship. She found herself in an open room with a tall, curved reception desk on the far side, and a row of plush chairs lining the wall on the other.

“Hannah, your shoulder!” Sana called behind her.

“Where's the cockpit?” she asked without turning.

“Go through that door, turn right, and keep going to the end,” Sana replied, sounding somewhat breathless.

Hannah followed her directions and found the cockpit at the end of a long hallway that had a number of rooms on either side. “We need to get out of here right now,” she called over her shoulder. “You take care of Odessus. I’ll get us out of here.”

She dropped into the pilot seat and immediately paused. The controls, though no longer in turian, were still indecipherable.

“Do not be ridiculous, Hannah,” Sana said, slipping a hand under her arm to haul her up again. “Get Odessus into a seat and secure yourselves. I will fly us out of here.”

“I can do it,” Hannah insisted, setting her jaw.

Sana pointed to the seat behind her. “You have been shot, and it would be unwise to let you go into shock at the controls. Furthermore, this is my ship. I understand it better than you do—particularly the language, if your confused expression is any indication.”

“I’m an Alliance Navy pilot, Sana. Aerial combat is what I do.”

Odessus brushed past Hannah into the cockpit and sank heavily into the other seat. “Sana, get us out of here. Hannah, go strap in. We’ll be varren feed if we stand here bickering anymore.”

Hannah shook her head. “You’re concussed, Odessus.”

The turian didn’t so much as glance at her as she secured herself and brought up the copilot interface. “You will be too if you don’t strap in. Don’t argue, Hannah.”

Hannah still didn’t like it, but they were out of time. She bit the inside of her lip hard enough to hurt as she slid quickly into the jumpseat behind Sana and pulled the harness around her shoulders.

“They’ve locked the docking port!” she heard Sana say. “It won’t release us.”

An odd chirruping noise tittered through the cabin, and the ship began to move. Odessus chuckled and mumbled something about officer credentials. Hannah would ask later when they didn’t have a ship full of well-armed soldiers bent on killing them so close on their heels.

Her good humor, it seemed, quickly evaporated as she started clipping out updates on the ship’s defenses, “Shields are up. Barriers are active. Drive core is starting. Get us out of here, Sana.”

Hannah heard a muffled explosion and felt the ship lurch off course.

“Barriers at forty percent,” Sana said evenly. “The next hit will take them down all the way. I just have my shields after that, no armor.”

“Worry about the drive core,” Odessus snapped. “I’ll worry about not getting hit. My controls.”

As if to challenge that claim, another explosion just outside the hull rocked the ship.

Sana was clearly more distressed now. “Your controls. Barriers are down. Shields are at eighty percent. This ship is not built to engage military craft, Odessus.”

Hannah stretched her neck to catch a glimpse at what they were doing at the controls. The flight interface was similar to what the Alliance had, but she had no context for the movements they made. It was all too quick and too subtle for her to comprehend what they were doing.

When Odessus spoke, it was as if Sana hadn’t said anything. “Report.”

“Drive core is online,” Sana called back, her anxiety and annoyance ringing clear in her voice. “Bank to port thirty degrees. Yaw to two degrees.”

Another explosion shook the small ship, setting them off course once again and sounding an angry alarm.

“Eight seconds to course correction. Shields are at twenty-five percent. Odessus, the next hit will—”

Red lights switched to green across the controls, and Odessus threw out her hand, engaging all of them without waiting for Sana to finish. “FTL activated!”

For a moment, the gravity compounded on Hannah’s chest, and she felt herself pressing heavily against her chair, the feeling lasting only a moment before her equilibrium returned.

“Can they pursue us?” she asked between heavy breaths.

Sana hummed an affirmation. “This ship’s drive core is short range. We could make it all the way to the Serpent Nebula, but not the Widow system. I have set a course to the Annos Basin instead. We will use the relay there to get to the Citadel.”

Odessus huffed. “And what are we supposed to do once we get there?”

She stood and walked out of the cockpit. “That is the future. I am more concerned about the present. Right now, I have to see to your injuries. Both of you follow me, please.”

Hannah heard Odessus fumbling with her harness, and she released herself to go help her. Her hands trembled from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, but she was able to help the turian free herself and get to her feet again, the weight of the concussion apparently crashing back on her.

They followed Sana through one of the many doors, which turned out to lead to examination rooms. Odessus took a seat on one of the two beds in the room and rumbled, “I just evaded a squadron of my own people. I’m fine.”

Sana fished a light from a nearby cupboard and shined it into the major’s eyes while pressing her fingers to the inside of her cowl. “Your performance notwithstanding, you are not fine, Odessus. You are concussed. Your face is covered in blood. You even have some of the lieutenant commander’s blood on you. We need to get the swelling in your brain under control and the rest of you cleaned up. Do you feel nauseated?”

Odessus shook her head and gave a resigned sigh. “No, just a splitting headache and dizziness.” Her mandibles fluttered and her brow plates drew down as she growled. “If we live through this, I plan to see that fucker publicly humiliated. He is exactly the sort who gives biotics a bad name, and the Hierarchy should have nothing to do with him.”

“Biotics?” Hannah asked, taking a seat on the adjacent bed. “What are biotics, some kind of technology?”

Odessus relaxed into smirked at that, and Sana seemed somewhat bemused by the question. “It is not a technology, precisely, Lieutenant Commander, though most biotics do use technological enhancements. Biotics are the ability to manipulate dark matter to create mass effect fields by using electrical impulses in the brain. All asari are biotically inclined, but that tendency varies across species and individuals. Vyrnnus is a rare specimen of a turian biotic. The ability comes from in utero exposure to element zero. Does humanity not use element zero for its drive cores?”

Headlines from recent years flashed through Hannah’s mind. Transport vehicles carrying tons of eezo had already crashed near highly populated areas. A rash of cancer had been the most immediate effect, followed by many children born with physical and neurological aberrations. Was it possible that some of the babies who were born and who lived in those areas would be able to do the things Vyrnnus had done?

Shrugging herself from her reverie, Hannah moved on to the next topic without answering Sana’s question. “What happens now?”

Sana narrowed her eyes at both of them. “Now, I will give something to Odessus for her concussion, after which she will clean up, lie down, and not make any sudden movements for at least the next few hours. Next, I will fix the hole in your shoulder and suture your fingers, Hannah. Then, you will take a shower to clean yourself up. I do not want my place of business smelling like a gymnasium.”

Odessus tried to object, but the hard look on the asari’s face told her that would be unwise. After a long moment, she nodded her agreement and settled down to let Sana tend to her.

By the time it was Hannah's turn, her mind had calmed down and the absence of adrenaline made her blood feel leaden as it pumped through her veins. Her shoulder and shirt felt wet and sticky, and she was starting to feel lightheaded. Sana shined the light in her eyes and immediately turned to her cupboard again, pulling out one syringe after another, swabs, bottles of different liquids, and what looked like a pair of pliers.

Without preamble, Sana stuck her in the arm with one of the syringes and said shortly, “For the nausea.”

Hannah didn’t have the energy to deny the rising feeling in the pit of her stomach and let Sana work. The asari doused one of the swabs and cleaned around the wound. Three more pricks and Hannah’s shoulder went numb. She saw Sana pick up the pliers, but she felt nothing of what she did with them. After only a few minutes, Sana set down the pliers again, only now they held a round between their jaws. Farther down her back, Hannah felt the stream of blood start to flow with renewed strength; she gripped the side of the bed to keep from falling forward from the dizziness. Again, she watched as Sana picked up one tool of her trade after another but felt nothing as she worked. In only a few short minutes, she stepped in front of Hannah again, clearly relieved to have finished with her shoulder.

Sana took Hannah’s hand to examine the damage and tsked. “It looks like you got some of Odessus’s blood on you as well, Lieutenant Commander. The two of you are walking hazmat risks. This is going to sting, so try to be still.”

Hannah glanced down and saw the drops of blue, already dark and drying, against her skin. It was nowhere near the open wound, so she wasn’t terribly concerned. Once the old blood was scrubbed away, Sana produced a syringe and began squeezing a clear liquid—which did in fact smart a great deal—onto the wound. The bleeding, which had been slowing, finally stopped, and Sana applied another syringe, this one filled with a thick, cloudy substance. Once applied, the flesh of her fingers began instantly to cool and tingle.

Sana nodded and disposed of her used equipment. “That should do it, Lieutenant Commander. There is a shower down the hall, but wait five minutes to let the medi-gel work. I will have new clothes for you when you finish. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few calls to make.”

Hannah stepped down from the examination table, trying not to ball her fist or shake away the feeling. Odessus was stretched out on the other bed. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes were closed, but Hannah was pretty sure she was still awake. Her mandibles twitched in what seemed like agitation; apparently, her stillness wasn’t necessarily restful. Then again, who could rest when your life could very well be as short as the time it took to get to the next mass relay? And even if they did get there? How long did they have after that? It couldn’t be long with the largest and most powerful military in the known galaxy bearing down on them.

“That name, Palaven,” she said and Odessus opened her eyes to look at her. “It’s the home world for turians, right?”

Odessus stilled a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s the home world.”

“And what Vyrnnus said? About going there to meet the, the primarch, I guess? That’s bad, isn’t it.”

Odessus took in a deep breath and closed her eyes again. “If the _Honorable_ is going to Palaven, this isn’t a skirmish or a policing action anymore. War—full-scale war—is imminent.”


	8. Chapter 8

It didn’t take long for the mild sedative Sana had administered to take effect, and when Odessus became sluggish, Hannah left the room and headed for the washroom. She felt slick, sticky, and shaken all at once. By the time she’d stripped off her clothes and stepped under the spray of the showerhead, the once-bright red blood was already turning to a rusted brown. With the warm water coursing over her skin and carrying the sweat and red and rust down the drain, she closed her eyes and tried to breathe out the muted electricity the major’s confirmation had sent straight through her core.

“War is imminent,” Hannah whispered.

It was one thing to root invaders out of a single colony. It would be quite another to engage in a protracted conflict that spanned the galaxy. A glacial chill had settled in the pit of her stomach, and Hannah felt her hands shaking even when she pressed them against the cool metal of the shower wall.

The fear that gripped Hannah was new and nearly overwhelming. She already knew how this conflict would play out. It would be a war of attrition, and the deciding factor would not be which side had better fighters or better morals or even better leaders. Even if the Alliance could match the Hierarchy ship for ship, it wouldn’t matter. It would be resources alone that would determine the outcome of the war, and humanity’s resources paled in comparison. They had strong ships and willing, determined soldiers. But Earth’s system of colonies was still small and developing and costly, not yet profitable. Hell, even Arcturus, the seat of the Alliance military, was still under construction. The turians had had centuries to develop their resource centers and network of governments. They had political capital and an entire galactic community of allies to lean on.

This war was already decided. Humanity would kick and struggle on its way up the gallows, but it would hang all the same.

War with—and by extension, defeat by—the turians would mean countless lives lost. It would mean economic devastation on a level never before experienced in human history. It would mean bad blood and a lost opportunity for building alliances. It would mean vulnerability to exploitation. It would mean more wars that humanity would be even less equipped to fight and win. It would mean the slow but unrelenting degradation of human society. And every other race in the galaxy would only ever think of humans in those terms.

“Good job, humanity,” she mumbled. “We’ll be using our first impression on the galaxy fighting with one of the cool kids on the Council. Not exactly endearing.”

The water began to run cold, so she switched it off and reached for a towel. Sana had left a fresh set of clothing—a green tunic-like thing that was similar to one she’d seen the asari wear—outside the door to the washroom, and Hannah dressed quickly. Walking down the hallway, she heard Sana speaking to someone behind a closed door, but her words were muffled. Another voice spoke back, low and feminine and equally obscured.

When she entered the examination room again, she was brushing her fingers through her hair, trying to preempt the tangles, and separating it into three locks to braid it. She thought idly about what she might give for a proper brush at this point.

Odessus was stretched out on her bed, but her eyes were open. Hannah imagined she had one or two things on her mind to work out now that she was a fugitive from her own military. What would’ve happened if it had been Alliance soldiers who’d found them on Shanxi instead? She would’ve fought tooth and nail for fair treatment, she was sure. But would she have risked as much as Odessus had? Would she have run from the Alliance if it became clear Odessus was in danger? Or would she have fallen in line and not challenged the chain of command? These questions could never be answered in hypotheticals, but she liked to think she would.

She began to wind her hair together.

“What happens to you if the Hierarchy catches us before we get to the Citadel?” she asked flatly, as if they were talking about the weather and not their respective fates.

Odessus closed her eyes and took in a steadying breath. “Assuming they arrest us and don’t just blow us out of the sky? The best-case scenario is that I’ll be court martialed and sent to prison. It’s more likely I’ll be killed in action. Same for you.”

“And Sana?”

She opened her eyes again and swung her legs to sit on the side of the bed. She rolled her shoulder and looked away. “Depends on whose finger is on the trigger. She’s technically a citizen in the Hierarchy, so there wouldn’t be any political blowback if she were shot too. But killing a doctor who’s also an asari wouldn’t look good on anyone’s record. No guarantees, though.”

Hannah hummed thoughtfully to herself and tossed her rope of hair over her shoulder again. “What’s our ETA to the Citadel?”

Odessus pulled up her omni-tool. “We’re still two hours and thirty-two minutes from the relay in the Annos Basin. Provided we don’t have another Hierarchy cruiser waiting for us, we’d be able to use that relay to jump to the Serpent Nebula, which would take another hour and sixteen minutes.”

Hannah nodded absently. “So, in about four hours, we’ll be at the Citadel?”

Odessus shook her head sharply and winced. “We really shouldn’t be going to the Citadel at all. We’ll be captured immediately if we go there. Citadel Security gets so many of its recruits from the Hierarchy, it’s basically just another arm of the turian military.”

“I suppose you think we should go to the Terminus Systems?” Sana said as she walked into the room, clearly finished talking to whoever it was Hannah had heard in that closed room. “Set up somewhere on Omega, maybe? Or perhaps you would prefer to take a chance on a batarian colony somewhere? And what are you doing sitting upright. Lie back, please.”

Odessus growled and flared her mandibles. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sana. It’s not one or the other. The Citadel isn’t safe. We just need to get somewhere to lay low for a while.”

Sana waved a hand, dismissing Odessus. “Nonsense. You have done nothing wrong. Vyrnnus forced you into being a fugitive, and Hannah has only escaped abuse. Moreover, I had a very comfortable living before I got that call from you, and I would like to return to it as soon as possible. None of us can run forever. The sooner we bring this ordeal to an end, the sooner we can resume our lives.”

Both Hannah and Odessus fell quiet. Mostly, she didn’t believe Sana knew what she was doing or what the consequences might be for aiding in the escape, impromptu as it was. But the sensation of light fingers brushing against her jaw came unbidden to mind, and she had to close her eyes to keep from leaning into a touch that wasn’t there. She felt the heavy weight of toddlerhood in her arms and took in a deep breath. She needed to get back. She needed to know Michael was alive. She needed to let them know she was alive. She needed to be back in her bed, with Michael pressed against her back, his arm flung lazily over her waist, and with Alli curled tightly against her middle. She needed this purgatory of waiting and hoping and waiting to end.

When she opened her eyes, Sana was looking at her intently, the indigo of the marks around her eyes grown seemingly darker with the asari’s immovable determination.

Hannah sighed and nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

#

Hannah was an excellent pilot.

She’d been top of her class in flight school. She’d spent every waking hour during training studying the inner workings of every fighter class until she could take her Rosie apart and put her back together in her sleep—well, if she were to sleep for fifteen hours straight, she could. While she and Michael had been stationed in Rio, she’d applied herself to understanding meteorology and atmospheric physics because she didn’t want to be surprised by forces she couldn’t see.

She’d advanced quickly to lieutenant commander both through dogged determination for perfect marks and through her tweaks to flight patterns and maintenance schedules that would result in millions of credits saved over the course of her career. Hannah was a capable officer of the Alliance Navy, and no challenge was too small for her to meet.

Learning the controls to an alien ship did not qualify as a small challenge, but she had no choice but to be game for it.

An image of the Citadel glowed orange and spun lazily above Sana’s wrist as Odessus protested.

“We’re going to get ourselves killed,” the major insisted. Hannah had lost count of the number of times she’d made this argument.

She shrugged, belying the nonchalance of the gesture by simultaneously wringing her hands. “It’s a better plan than simply running. It’s not going to get any safer to board the Citadel a month or a year down the road, especially if full-scale war breaks out. Right now we at least have the advantage that no one aboard the station knows what a human looks like.”

An irritated hum vibrated from Odessus. “That doesn’t mean you’ll go unnoticed, Hannah. You’re going to draw attention.”

The turian began to pace, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Hannah wondered where this caution was when she’d decided to crash their ships together or when she’d slid down the slick sheet rock of the ravine with the water rushing and rising toward them. Where was this concern when she’d smuggled Hannah’s tablet in to her, or when she’d warned Hannah against Vyrnnus? Perhaps it had finally become too much for her. Perhaps she’d fill for the number of risks she was willing to take for the year. Hannah shook her head. It didn’t matter. There was still one more risk to take.

Odessus growled lowly and muttered again how Hannah was going to get herself killed.

Sana raised a hand to silence both of them. “You are both correct. We stand a high risk of apprehension, but this is also the only way to bring about a lasting resolution.”

Odessus huffed and cast a sidelong glance at the asari but said nothing. Hannah had an idea of what she might be thinking and couldn’t help but agree. As much as the doctor wanted a crisp, clean path out of the clusterfuck they’d found themselves in, it wasn’t going to happen. Not easily, anyway.

“I haven’t met a bird I couldn’t fly,” Hannah said at last, “but I’ve been able to read the controls.”

Odessus stopped her pacing and seemed to sway. Hannah wasn’t sure if it was the sedative Sana had given her, or if it was indecision. Finally, she rounded on them. “I can’t believe I’m helping you with this stupid plan. Give me your ‘tool.” Hannah unwrapped it from her wrist and gave it to Odessus. “The program for the ‘tool is written for an operating system that’s different from the ship’s onboard virtual intelligence matrix, so you can’t just install it one from the other.” She brought up a screen, and her fingers flew across it. “But you can sync the two so that they can communicate. While they communicate, the VI learns the ‘tool’s most-used programs for the pilot’s ease of use. It will learn and build its own translation program.”

Sana stepped back, seemingly stunned. “How do you know that?”

The major’s mandibles twitched but she didn’t answer. Hannah chuckled. “It looks like I’m not the only one who knows birds.”

Odessus nodded at that and closed the screen. “Take a look now.”

Hannah slipped the omni-tool back into place and felt the now-familiar tingle. She left the room and made her back to the cockpit. The numerous virtual interfaces were now parseable. A quick scan and she could place all the avionics she would need to fly the ship where she needed it to go.

Both Odessus and Sana had walked up behind her. She turned and smiled at them. “I can work with this. How long before we hit the relay?”

Sana pulled up the timer again. “We will be entering the relay’s field in a little more than five minutes. It’s a well-traveled route, so the algorithm for the jump is automated. We’ll feel a little extra gravity during the jump, but nothing more.”

As the last of the words escaped her lips, an alarm began to sound. All three of them threw up their hands to cover their ears, and Hannah fell backward into the cockpit again. The virtual interfaces flashed bright red and two triangles hovered above the main dash.

Hannah dropped into the seat and strapped in. “So much for not having company.”

Odessus sank heavily into the seat next to her. “Let me handle them, Hannah. You don’t know the controls yet.”

Hannah waved off her words. “And you’re under the influence of sedatives. Run point on cyber and let me fly this thing. Jam their targeting, throw up firewalls, whatever you have to do. You’re the only one aboard who knows those systems.”

Odessus didn’t argue and brought up the screen for the cyberwarfare suite. Hannah also noticed that she did not close the interface for the controls.

“My controls,” Hannah said pointedly.

Odessus looked at her hard, and Hannah did not look away. The last thing she needed was another pair of hands on the controls, and the major should know that. It took a long moment, but eventually, she closed the copilot aviation interface. “Your controls. I hope you know what you’re doing, Hannah.”

She didn’t have the same facility with Sana’s ship as she’d had with Rosie, but she had to start somewhere. She punched in a new vector, and the ship turned around.

“The relay is the other way,” Sana offered placidly from behind Hannah.

“Sterile cockpit,” Hannah said, just as placidly.

“Strap in, Sana,” Odessus said a bit more warmly.

Hannah chuckled. “Yeah, you definitely want to strap in. My crazy Uncle Ivan will be here soon.”

“Your who?” Sana asked.

“Never mind, just secure yourself.”

She heard, rather than saw, Sana settle in and click her harness into place.

It wasn’t long before the two frigates started to close on their position. She just hoped she could lure them far enough out to give her enough time to make it into the relay’s effective field.

“They’ve locked our position, Hannah,” Odessus said coolly.

“That’s your department.”

Her hands flew across the interface, and the flashing red turned to amber. She let out a long slow breath.

“See? I knew you could do it.”

“They’ll lock us again in thirty-two seconds. Whatever you’re going to do, you need to do it now.”

Hannah tracked the trajectories of the three ships. Thirty-six seconds at least.

“Just take care of it.”

As the time ticked down and the two red triangles grew closer to their position, she could feel Odessus start to hum nervously.

“Ten seconds, Hannah.”

“Buy me six more seconds.”

The alarms started to sound again, and the controls flashed red.

“They’re on top of us!” Odessus said. “They don’t even have to shoot us from where they are. They can just crash through us and their shields will absorb it. I can’t hack against that, Hannah.”

Hannah could feel the shift in gravity as the ship passed into the envelope of the frigates’ combined mass effect field. _There we go_ , she thought.

Her hands flew through the controls and the ship took a hard turn up and over the frigates, slinging them back toward the relay. If she looked up, she’d be able to see them passing above her, but there was no time for sight-seeing. The mass relay lay just ahead, but no matter how much larger the frigates were compared to Sana’s ship, they would still course-correct—and soon. She had to get through the relay before they could lock on her again.

“Thirty seconds to jump,” Stripes said beside her.

Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds of stillness, of held breath, of being both dead and alive. Thirty seconds of eternity.

On the screen, the frigates were already turning toward her, each one spinning away from the other in a way that made Hannah smile as she imagined them following her wake.

Fifteen seconds.

The two triangles were already falling into an intercept trajectory and closing quickly.

Five seconds.

“They’ve locked our position.”

The alarm reverberated through the ship, and the red warning light held steady, no longer flashing.

Hannah hit the thrusters for any last juice they could give and jumped into the relay.

The frigate VI calculated that the shot had missed its target by 0.5 seconds.


	9. Chapter 9

Having only been rendered fully speechless once before, Hannah had thought it was unlikely to ever happen again. Then again, she’d never found herself bathed in the amethyst glow of a nebula that enveloped her on all sides, watching the slow turn of a space station more immense than anything she had ever imagined. Arcturus, the Alliance’s prized construction, was dwarfed in comparison. For the first time in her life, no words came to Hannah when she called for them—not _fear_ , not _joy_ , not _awe_ —and she was filled with emotion so ancient and expansive it was ineffable. Sirens were creatures of myth, but in the endless moments of their approach to the Citadel, she came to believe in beauty so profound, so exalted by its own enormity it could move you to dash your own ship upon the rocks in pursuit of it.

Sana must have suspected the tenor of Hannah’s thoughts as she pressed a hand gently to her shoulder. “Lieutenant Commander,” she said softly, calling Hannah back to herself, “it is crucial you follow my instructions precisely. Please pay attention.”

She blinked and nodded, gathering herself as the station grew closer.

The turian military might not have the jurisdiction to engage what it deemed a hostile ship this close to the Citadel, but Odessus had assured them they could expect the Citadel fleet to act in full cooperation. For the moment, traffic through the relay was thick enough that they could fade into the background, but the traffic controllers on the Citadel would notice them, and soon. It was only a matter of time before they drew the attention of the fleet.

Sana strapped herself into the jumpseat behind Odessus, and cleared her throat. “You must do exactly as I say, exactly when I say to do it. Do you both understand?”

They nodded, but a weighty dread had begun to pull at the pit of Hannah’s stomach. Instructions that required a disclaimer like that were never good.

“When I say,” Sana began again, “deactivate all systems.”

“All?” Hannah and Odessus asked in unison, turning in their seats.

Sana nodded and answered their silent question, “Including life support. This ship can make no emissions of any kind if we hope to go unnoticed.” She brought up her omni-tool and offered the information she held there to Hannah. “Point us in the direction of these coordinates precisely. Our momentum will carry us after we kill the thrusters. Odessus, set the navigation on your omni-tool to alert us when we have reached these coordinates.”

Odessus flared out her mandibles in alarm. “Sana, this isn’t—”

Whatever she would’ve said, Sana waved into silence. “No arguments. Do as I say. Cut the power now.”

When Hannah hesitated, Odessus obeyed. This was reckless, even by their standards.

Weightlessness gripped her, and she had to measure out her breathing. _There’s plenty of oxygen, plenty_ , she repeated to herself. _There’s enough oxygen_ , _and the residual heat won’t bleed away too quickly. This is fine. We’ll be fine. Sana knows what she’s doing_.

Judging by the shiver that Odessus was trying to suppress, Hannah certainly _hoped_ Sana knew what she was doing.

“When you reach these coordinates, ping this address from your omni-tool,” she said. “You must send it at precisely those coordinates. It is part of the coded message.”

“For the record,” Hannah whispered against her better judgment, “this is a bad idea, and I’m going to kill you if we die out here.”

Her mandibles trembled, but Odessus appeared more impassive than Hannah thought she must’ve felt. “What kind of message is this, exactly?” she rumbled almost too lowly for Hannah to hear.

“You need not concern yourself with what kind of message it is or to whom you will send it. This is the only way to board the station without alerting Citadel Security. If we do not follow the procedure exactly, we will not succeed.”

Hannah had to laugh, but kept it a short huff. “You’re feistier than I gave you credit for, Doc. Who knew you’d know so many secrets?”

Sana smirked, but grudgingly. “I told you before. My first priority is always the health of my patients. Sometimes, my patients find themselves in situations that require discretion. As long as my discretion does not put another individual in the way of direct harm, I am happy to oblige. In exchange, I often learn information I might not otherwise have access to, including, apparently, vulnerabilities in the security of the Citadel.”

Odessus shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “You’re a fertility specialist, Sana. Is evading security systems a frequent topic of discussion over ultrasounds?”

Sana’s smirk disappeared. “It comes up about as frequently as ways to perform emergency surgery on an unknown alien anatomy. I have known you all your life, Odessus, but you have not known me all of mine.”

For an hour, they said nothing else. Ships of all kinds, both civilian and military, slid silently above them. Hannah kept her breathing shallow, partly in awe and partly in fear. With the haptic interface for the ship’s controls disabled, there was very little for her to do other than stare of the technical marvel before her and focus on not breathing too much air. Every few minutes, she shook out her hands and flexed her fingers, keeping away the fast-encroaching chill and the panic that threatened to well up inside her. Odessus moved very little and kept a close eye on the display of her omni-tool as they crawled toward the single bright light glowing between them. 

Just before they reached the appointed coordinates, Sana whispered, “One ping only, Odessus. Do not send more than one ping.”

She sent the ping, and no one breathed. After ten seconds—or was it ten hours?—a single ping answered them.

Sana exhaled a breath. “We are clear. Restart all systems, and go to the second set of coordinates.”

Hannah could not comply fast enough and let out a string of expletives to punctuate her relief as the ship hummed to life once again.

Odessus looked at the coordinates and her eyes narrowed. “Sana, that’s—”

“Yes. Again, it is not your concern.”

“What kind of patients have you had?”

Sana straightened and said crisply, “Major Odessus Ravaka. Mind your task.”

Odessus shook her head, mandibles fluttering in amusement, and gave a half-salute. “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

It took another hour, but they were soon docked against what looked like an airlock.

Sana stood and motioned for Hannah and Odessus to follow her down the hall and back to the ship’s entrance. “Stay here in the reception area. I must speak with my contact privately.”

Hannah started after her. “Wait, Sana, you can’t be serious. We have no idea who’s waiting out there—”

Sana spun around. “You will do as you are told, Lieutenant Commander. My contact will speak to no one but me. Sit down and be quiet. The last thing we need is for either of you to escalate what should be a simple exchange. Do not do anything until I return.”

The forcefulness of her words stunned Hannah, and she didn’t say another word as the airlock shut behind the asari’s back.

Odessus came up beside her, crossing her arms and chuckling. “She can get pretty cross when she gets a rock in her spurs. Better not to get in her way.”

Hannah shook her head. “She doesn’t have spurs.”

She flared her mandibles in amusement. “Her tentacles then.”

Hannah tilted her head toward the door. “Who is she talking to?”

Odessus rolled a shoulder and looked away. “If I had to make a guess, I’d say they’re an . . . agent from a very rough asteroid in a system very far from here.” She looked over at Hannah and seemed to consider before asking, “You all right?”

Truthfully, Hannah didn’t know. She felt herself trembling, but she couldn’t tell if that was just the lingering chill or something else. Instead of voicing any of that, she asked, “Have you been to the Citadel?”

Odessus nodded once. “I’ve never lived here, but I’ve spent plenty of shore leave here when I couldn’t make it back home to Taetrus. It can be an overwhelming place for newcomers. I have a feeling I’ll be here a lot more once this is all done.”

Hannah looked at her quizzically.

Odessus let out a sigh. “Even if Sana can wield her magic, my career in the military is over.” She began to pace. “If I’m very lucky, I’ll get approval for an appointment to C-Sec.” When she turned again toward Hannah, she huffed. “I’ll have you know I was a good soldier before you came along. My file is full of commendations. Not a single incident of assaulting a superior officer or aiding and abetting a fleeing prisoner.”

Hannah grinned. “Good soldier my ass.” She paused, then asked, “Why come here and not go home?”

Odessus shrugged. “Not enough action. Too much politics. My plates start to itch after a week groundside.”

Hannah nodded but couldn’t offer more than sympathy. Everything was hanging by a thread, and After was still too far away to really think about clearly.

The airlock hissed open and a loud, angry voice bellowed through it, “—the kind of shit I’m going to be in if the executor finds out about this? Fringe-deep, T’Oriza! Athame-fucking-damn it all.”

Another asari strode onto the ship with Sana following quickly behind her and looking somewhat scandalized. The neon orange of the stranger’s markings across the ridges of her fringe were striking, but not quite as striking as the unmitigated fury shining in her eyes as she stormed up to Hannah. Odessus stepped closer to her as well, squaring her shoulders. The asari stopped with the tip of her nose nearly meeting Hannah’s. “So you’re the damn pyjack who’s blowing my fucking cover. You must shit concentrated eezo if the boss herself is sending me to be your fucking babysitter, eh?”

Hannah took half a step forward, closing what little distance there was between them and pressing into the asari's space. “That would be me. The eezo-shitting pyjack extraordinaire. Now are you going to do your fucking job or does _the boss_ have to find another babysitter?”

Sana called out Hannah’s name—in panic or exasperation, she couldn’t tell—and Odessus bristled beside her, shifting into a stance.

It took only a moment for a crooked smile to flash across her face and she took a step back. “I like you, pyjack. If you were asari, I’d say you had some krogan in you. Call me Pyrrha.” She nodded at Odessus, giving her a pointed up-and-down look, and her smile grew wider. “You can relax, sweethips. I’m not going to do anything to your girl. I was told to get her somewhere secure, and that’s what I’ll do. Get your things together, red. No delays. We get this done now before my absence makes me conspicuous.”

Both Sana and Odessus visibly relaxed. Hannah, however, took in a sharp breath, realizing fully for the first time that she had nothing left. Not even the clothes on her back belonged to her anymore. She cleared her throat and held out an open palm to have this new asari lead the way. “I’m ready when you are, Pyrrha.”

Without another word, the asari turned on her heel and exited the ship. Hannah glanced at Odessus, who looked as baffled as Hannah felt, and asked in a low voice, “Who the hell is _the boss_?”

Odessus shot a questioning look at Sana, who shook her head once. “Someone no one wants to fuck with, even on the Citadel. We’d better hurry if we want to keep up.”


	10. Chapter 10

Pyrrha was a dozen paces ahead of them already down a narrow hallway lit only by intermittent, dim lights. The orange markings lining her fringe made her easy to follow.

“The executor’s offices are back that way,” she said over her shoulder. “But that’s the last place you three monumentally stupid cloacae want to go. I don’t know if I should slap you or kiss you, you know. How you plan to escape the Hierarchy when it’s turned its full attention on you, I have no idea. But then, it takes some damn talent to get to that point in the first place, and I can respect that. So what are you anyway, red?”

It wasn’t often that Hannah felt off-kilter, but this asari had a talent for it. Sana couldn’t seem to lose the constant look of apology as they followed her contact through the flickering semi-darkness. Odessus’s mandibles were flared wide, and she didn’t seem to be able to find words to respond to anything Pyrrha said.

Hannah was about to respond that she was a human when what might as well have been a giant grasshopper turned the corner ahead of them and started walking toward them. She grabbed Odessus’s arm and pulled her back into the shadows. “Look out!”

Pyrrah threw her head back and gave a loud, open-mouthed laugh. “That’s a keeper, pyjack. Perfectly harmless and, more importantly, completely uninterested in anything we’re doing. They’re pretty much the only ones who use these tunnels. Unless you’re a fugitive on the run from the most powerful military in Council space or a mole for a pirate queen or an executor with unconventional tastes in evening company, at least for a batarian. Just keep out of its way and you’ll be fine.”

Odessus chuckled and patted the hand Hannah still had clutching her arm. “It’s fine,” she said. “They can’t even talk.”

Hannah relaxed and let go of Odessus. She was going to have to gain more control of herself if she didn’t want to attract too much attention. She took in a steadying breath and continued after Pyrrha, sidestepping the grasshopper thing as it crawled past her, seemingly focused on one thing and oblivious to everything else.

“My name is Hannah,” she said when she finally caught up to the asari. “Not _red_ or _pyjack_.”

Pyrrha nodded, but she wasn’t sure if it was an acknowledgment or a dismissal. “Of course it is. What about you, sweethips? You got a name?”

Odessus blued slightly around her neck and answered, “It’s definitely not _sweethips_. It’s Ravaka.”

Pyrrha nodded again without looking at her. “Fair enough, Ravaka. This is our exit here.”

The drastic change from the narrow, near-silent tunnel to a dark night club with lights flashing and music thrumming with bass was disorienting. Pyrrha threw out her arms and yelled at them over the music. “Welcome to the Citadel!”

Without further ado, she began to weave her way through the mixed crowd of drinking, dancing, stumbling aliens. Asari and turians were present in great numbers, but so were others. Small and round steampunk teddy bears. Big, lumbering boulders. Walking, horned salamanders. Four-eyed bulldog people. Platforms raised and lowered in an open area, carrying gyrating, leather-clad asari with them. Every table was occupied with patrons gesticulating wildly at each other and glasses and cylinders both filled and overturned. It didn’t matter: the language of debauchery was written clearly and boldly across every body, regardless of the species.

Of all the things Hannah might have expected to encounter on the majestic station that had hypnotized her as it turned slowly in the light of the nebula, this wasn’t exactly it.

Hannah must’ve stopped walking, arrested by the scene in front of her, because she felt a three-fingered hand come to rest on her shoulder. She shook her head and looked at Odessus beside her. The club was too loud for speaking, but her tilted head and drawn-down browplates sent a clear message: stopping was not an option. They had to keep moving.

Pyrrha had moved farther into the crowd, but at least she was still easy to find. Hannah caught sight of a door that seemed to be the object of the asari’s weaving path. Door one had been a tunnel used almost exclusively by giant bugs. Door two had been the sort of night club Hannah hadn’t entered since before Alli was born. What would be behind door three?

#

As soon as they had exited the club, the overpowering music subsided and Hannah felt like she could breathe again. Pyrrha stood at a terminal, entering information. A moment later, a small shuttle landed next to her and opened its doors.

Pyrrha waved Hannah over and indicated the car. “You’ve got the back.”

Hannah felt tempted to argue for its own sake, but she thought better of it and crawled into the back as she’d been told.

“You too, Ravaka,” she heard her call, and Odessus climbed in after her.

When both Pyrrha and Sana had taken their seats and closed their doors, Hannah felt the shuttle start to lift off. “Isn’t this grand?” Pyrrha said, turning and leaning in close toward Sana. “Just two asari who found each other in the crush of a night club, leaving to fuck somewhere in private.”

Sana was nearly lavender.

Hannah had an idea that Pyrrha enjoyed putting each of them off balanced.

Odessus must’ve gotten the same idea and growled. “Just drive, asari.”

Pyrrha giggled. “Oh, listen to those subvocals! You’ve got a bit of mama varren in you, don’t you, Ravaka. All right, fine. I won’t torment T’Oriza anymore, even though she might have just blown a cover I’ve been working on for fucking years.”

Sana’s color grew normal again, and she crossed her arms, clearly becoming indignant. “She is the one who gave you the order. She knew the risk. And if a simple escort assignment is enough to blow your cover, you were not a good plant in the first place. Do not blame me for your own ineptitude.”

Pyrrha smiled and winked at Sana. “There she is. Nice to see you again, T’Oriza.”

After five interminable minutes, they came to a stop at the base of what seemed like a tower. Pyrrha exited the vehicle and Odessus followed after, offering a hand to Hannah.

“You have to pick up the pace, Hannah,” Pyrrha called, already halfway up the stairs to the entrance. “The longer you’re out here, the more likely it is that someone’s going to see you. Goddess, the more likely they’ll see me.”

Hannah bit the inside of her lip. She knew it wouldn’t do any good to talk back to this asari, who was relentlessly prodding for a reaction, but the desire to snap at her was so real it was almost palpable. Instead, she picked up her pace until she was practically on her heels.

Just inside the door were two more asari, each dressed in black fatigues and holding what looked like assault rifles. They took a step forward in unison, clearly motioning to stop them.

Sana stepped forward, ahead of even Pyrrha, and squared her shoulders. “I have an audience, and I don’t have time to argue with you. Call her to verify, and let us through.”

One of the asari raised her gun, pointing it at Sana’s chest. “This is her private residence. She doesn’t grant audience here.”

Sana stepped forward again, seemingly unconcerned by the gun pointed at her. The steel in her spine was unmistakable, and her words came out cold and hard. “Call her.”

The soldiers exchanged a quick glance, but the gun never wavered. After a long moment, they nodded at each other, and the one with a free hand raised it to her ear. She spoke too low and quick for Hannah’s translator to pick up on what she said, but the complete reversal of both asari’s expressions was unmistakable. The one with her gun trained on Sana lowered it immediately and stepped back.

“Of course, ma’am,” she said, her voice higher and more strained now. “Please, Doctor, come right this way. An assistant will be right with you to make you comfortable.”

Sana thanked the soldiers and pushed through the door. Hannah and Odessus followed her, but from the corner of her vision, she saw Pyrrha approach one of the soldiers and shake her hand.

“You only saw three people,” she said and pulled her hand away. Hannah caught the glint of a small chip in the soldier’s palm. Pyrrha took the other soldier’s hand and looked her pointedly in the eyes. “Yes?”

Both soldiers examined their gifts briefly and slipped them into their pockets. The one who had made the call resumed her guard stance and sounded bored. “No one cares about a cab driver.”

Pyrrha nodded, turned, and left without a backward glance. Hannah turned her attention back toward Sana and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank the spirits,” Odessus muttered, and Hannah grinned.

The foyer was cavernous, with mauve and gray drapes lining the silver-white walls, and a single blue figure stood at attention in the center. She was as expressionless as the soldiers had been and motioned for the trio to follow her as they approached without ever uttering a single word. She ushered them up the main staircase and turned right at the landing without stopping to check that they followed her.

They turned down a long hallway of doors but thankfully didn’t have far to go. She palmed the green light glowing in front of one of the doors and it slid open. She stepped aside but otherwise did not look any of them in the eye, instead staring past them until they entered the room. Without another word, she walked back the way they’d come and let the door slide shut once more.

Odessus trilled and turned around as she took stock of the office and its lush chaise lounges and carefully manicured flowers drooping over tabletops. “Don’t think I don’t know where we are, Sana, even if we did go in the back way to avoid the tourists,” she said. “This might be a private residence, but it’s still public property and an attraction. If this works, I expect to be paid for my silence to the family regarding our quiet asari cousin and who she spends her time with.”

Sana waved Odessus away. “Pyrrha has taken what little patience I’ve had today. Do not speak until or unless I say.” Hannah went to the lounge and was about to sit when Sana snapped at her. “Do not sit, either. You will stand until you are told otherwise.”

Hannah suppressed a smile and straightened. Personally, she like Sana this way—demanding, sure, impatient. She just hoped whoever walked through that door next would like her this way too.

#

It wasn’t long before yet another asari appeared. She wore a bright red dress with a single white panel down the middle and had markings around her eyes that were somewhat similar to the ones Sana had, though there were more of them. Before anyone could greet her, she was already talking.

“Any asari can ask for an audience with me, Dr. T’Oriza,” she said, crisp and clipped. “At my office. During business hours. After making an appointment. Might I ask why you decided to use our mutual acquaintance to demand we meet in my home and immediately?” She glanced away from Sana and seemed to notice Hannah for the first time. “And you are?”

Sana stepped forward and nodded toward the new asari. “Councilor Tevos, this is Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard of the Alliance Navy. She is human.”

 _Oh Jesus_ , Hannah thought. _One-third of the Council is standing in front of me. A little heads up would’ve been nice, Sana._

The councilor turned away from her, clearly unimpressed. “What you’ve just said is nonsense to me, Doctor. I do not know what a human is, and I’m unaware of any naval body connected to a government that calls itself the Alliance.”

Hannah and Odessus exchanged a glance. How could she not know? The patrol that led to Shanxi was conducted by the Hierarchy, true, but it had been in service of Council space. How could one of the councilors be unaware of what had happened? They'd assumed the Council was already aware of the situation in at least a passing sense. If the asari councilor was in the dark about Shanxi, what else didn't she know? By the set of her jaw, Sana seemed to be turning over these questions too.

“If I might ask,” Sana ventured, “is Councilor Titinius available.”

Tevos cut her hand across the air. “He is not. I will not demand he come to my home for an audience, either. He has been far too busy lately, and I will not have you disturb him further.”

Sana began to pace. “And what about the turian ambassador? Might we be able to speak with him?”

Tevos was growing in her annoyance and crossed her arms. “As it happens, he has been in a meeting with Titinius for several hours. Neither of them is available, and I am not their personal assistant, here to relay their schedules to you. If you wanted to speak with them, you should’ve had Aria call their offices, not mine.” She turned to leave, but Hannah raced forward to grab her arm. The sound of Sana calling for Hannah was starting to become too familiar.

“Mark my words, ma’am, they’re planning a war in that meeting. A war with the Alliance.”

The asari shook off her grip. “Once again, I have no idea what the Alliance is. The Hierarchy is sovereign and can go to war whenever it deems it necessary, provided it’s legal. If what you say is true, the turian councilor and ambassador are no doubt discussing those issues as we speak.”

She turned to leave again, but Sana called after her. “Of course, Councilor, you are correct, and we will not bother you any longer. Before you go, however, our friend has asked me to tell you that Liselle is doing well.”

Tevos froze with her hand above the door. She straightened and let her hand fall to her side as she turned slowly.

Sana turned and sat down on one of the lounges. “She completed her commando training last year. Apparently, she was unmatched in her cohort for her marksmanship. Our friend tells me Liselle has started taking contracts and is growing quite the reputation as a professional mercenary. She tells me Liselle has even done some work with the salarian STG in the Terminus. Unofficially, of course.”

Tevos walked slowly toward Sana but still said nothing.

Sana turned a cool gaze toward Hannah. “How many ships does the Alliance have?”

Hannah’s hand twitched as she brought it up to rub her neck. “We have four fleets, each with twenty carriers. I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information than that without committing treason.”

Odessus began to pace and wring her hands. She huffed, “Well, the Hierarchy does prefer a fair fight. Four fleets and eighty carrier groups is plenty fair.”

Sana nodded sagely. “I imagine the Hierarchy will need to lean on its allies to tip the balance in their favor. Just like they did during the Krogan Rebellions. The turians and the asari have always been close in that regard. I am sure more than a few asari commandos will jump at the chance to join up, maybe out of boredom or a sense of camaraderie. Maybe some young commandos will see this war as a chance to prove themselves, to build a resume even. What do you think, Councilor?”

Tevos stood straighter and clasped her hands behind her back. Still, she said nothing.

Sana tilted her head and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “I had two sisters once. They were both trained hand-to-hand specialists—trained, in fact, by the Hierarchy. They were both crack shots, too. For all their skill, they still ended up on the wrong end of a pirate’s rifle barrel. They were still very young—about Liselle’s age, come to think of it. My mother did not leave her room for almost a month after she learned of their deaths.” She paused there and stood, crossing her arms. “My _father_ was never the same, but he had an advantage over my mother. He died a few years later. She is still alive, and she still remembers them. It is a wound that has never fully healed.”

The two asari stood there, holding each other’s unblinking gaze.

Sana uncrossed her arms and began to walk toward the door. “We will not keep you any longer, Councilor. Thank you for—”

“Stop.” She turned to Sana and held out a hand. “If I must take a side on this issue, I need to know what happened.”

Sana took the councilor’s hand in her own, and if Hannah didn’t know better, she’d have thought both asari’s eyes turned black. But the moment was over in a matter of seconds, and Hannah’s mind turned back to more pressing issues than asari handshakes.

Tevos turned to Hannah and nodded. “I can offer the three of you asylum, but I’m afraid you will not be able to leave this residence. My household manager will see to your needs while I convene with the other councilors.”

When she turned and left, Sana visibly relaxed and turned back to Hannah. “Now we wait.”

A few moments later, the same asari who had met them in the foyer opened the door. She still did not speak but motioned for them to follow her.

She led them down another hall and opened a door. She crooked a finger at Hannah and swept out her other hand into the open doorway. Hannah took the hint and stepped forward to peek into the room. There was a wide bed in the middle, a chest of drawers along one wall, and shelves, filled more with small sculptures than books, along the other. If it weren’t for the lush sapphire of the bedding, the room would feel almost sparse.

She walked farther into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, then leaned all the way back. After months aboard military ships, the sudden softness took her breath away. She turned on her side and curled her knees up to her chest, reveling in the warm cloud of . . . bedding? relief? exhaustion? Her hands twitched, wanting to reach for a body she knew wasn’t there.

A great weight suddenly pressed down upon Hannah. It was one thing to be on the run, but it was quite another to be still, stuck, trapped. She had no doubts in the councilor’s ability to keep her safe and alive, at least officially. But Hannah felt like she had traded one prison for another, albeit with better sheets. There was no telling how long she would be trapped here. At least in a military prison, she had an idea of years before release. But this was bureaucracy. It could be days, it could be months, but it could also still be years. She was now less sure of her future than she ever had been, and she was completely dependent on the whim of a stranger—on the whim of a politician, no less. She was alone, and there was no telling when there would be an end to that aloneness.

She opened her eyes and pushed herself off the bed.

The silent asari was already making her way to the next door and indicating for Odessus that they had reached her room. She didn’t pause and immediately turned to lead Sana away as soon as Odessus had stepped through the door.

Sana put a hand to Odessus’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Get settled and find a way to entertain yourself. I have arrangements to make for my ship so that it does not draw too much attention where it is.” And with that, she disappeared down the hall as well.

Hannah jogged to where Sana had been and leaned against the door frame. Odessus stood in her room, stroking the silken throw blanket on her emerald green bed, which frankly looked more like a bowl of pillows. Odessus put a hand to her temple, and Hannah wondered if she was having similar thoughts about their confinement. She couldn’t help but give a half smile at that thought. Maybe she wasn’t quite as alone here as she first thought.

Hannah stepped forward and put a hand on the turian's shoulder. “You should rest,” she said. “All this activity can’t have been good for your concussion.”

She waved Hannah’s words away. “I’m fine. It just all still seems a little too unreal. I know I’ll never look at Sana the same way again. Don’t ask her about that Liselle person, by the way. I have a feeling that we’re better off knowing as little as possible there.” She paused, then said more quietly, “I have no idea how I’m going to tell my parents about any of this.”

Hannah nearly laughed at the sentiment, but the seriousness in the way Odessus spoke stopped her. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure how she would tell anyone at all, let alone her parents, about the events of the last weeks.

She shrugged and tried for light and comforting words. “At least we’ll be sleeping in style while we’re here. I don’t know about you, but my bed feels like it’s made entirely out of feathers. I’ll probably end up sleeping on the ground just so I know I’m sleeping on something other than air.”

Odessus flicked out her mandibles in an amused grin but said nothing. Hannah grabbed her hand and started to pull her toward the door.

“Come on,” she said. “You need food, and I need liquor. Politicians tend to have the best of both.”

Odessus chuckled but made no objections and followed her down the stairs. Despite the number of corridors and doorways, it didn’t take them long to find the pantries. The councilor must have had a number of turian guests because she kept two separate cupboards full of food: one for levos and one for dextros. Both she and Odessus set to work looking for food that didn’t require much preparation and for alcohol that either of them could drink. When Hannah found a bright pink vial, Odessus had to quickly pry it from her grasp.

“Don’t drink ryncol unless you’re already drunk,” she assured her. “Here. Try this asari beer instead. It’s sweet, so you might think you can drink it faster, but don’t,” she explained. “You’ll think it’s juice, but then it kicks your ass.”

Hannah smiled and found a tray to haul away their plunder.

The thought of Michael kept pushing into her mind. It might be months yet, or years even, before she ever saw him again. What if he couldn’t or wouldn’t wait for her? And what about Alli? Would she even recognize her the next time they met? Would she miss all the important moments in her daughter’s young life? Who would teach her to read or pour milk into her cereal? Who would tell her stories before bed? They all knew Hannah was the better storyteller.

Maybe there was a vid they could watch. She had no idea what the rest of the galaxy considered good film-making, but there had to be something brightly colored and saccharine that she could find to distract her, at least for a little while.

Odessus put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder, breaking her reverie and stopping her from walking away too quickly. “Everything is going to be okay, Hannah. You’ll see your family again and soon.” She paused and added, “You’ll see Michael again.”

Hannah felt a sob rise in her throat and swallowed it down with a swig of her beer. “I’m not holding my breath, Dess,” she said. “And I don’t hear any singing yet.”

Odessus flicked out her mandibles. “I don’t know what that means.” She shook her head and laughed. “ _Dess_? I was just getting used to you calling me _Odessus_ instead of _Stripes_.”

Hannah smiled and took another swig. “I like to keep ‘em on their toes, leave ‘em wanting more. Besides, _Odessus_ is too many syllables. _Dess_ is one syllable. It rolls off the tongue and makes it easier to talk to you. And ‘easy to talk to’ is a good quality for a friend to have, you know?”

The turian looked at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable, then shook her head again. “Let’s go watch something mindless. We’ll get drunk and fall asleep so we don’t have to think about anything.”

Hannah nodded vigorously. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had. Lead the way.”

They found a movie—a love story about a turian and s quarian, whatever that was—and they settled into the pillows that lined the turian-style bed. The warm lull of the alcohol kicked in all too quickly for Hannah, but she supposed she should have expected that, given how little she’d had to eat since they’d escaped the turians.

Sleep took her shortly after the quarian in the vid removed her mask, but Hannah was vaguely aware of the feeling when a blanket was draped across her.

“Don’t worry, Han,” a flanged voice said quietly. “You’ll be home soon. I promise.”


	11. Chapter 11

It had been five days since they’d arrived on the Citadel. Hannah was passing the evening in the library, sitting in a chaise lounge across from Dess and idly scrolling through several newsfeeds, when Sana found her. “Lieutenant Commander, Admiral Drescher wishes to speak with you.”

Hannah froze and looked at Dess, who had also paused with a talon suspended in the air, midswipe. She set down the datapad and followed Sana out of the room, smoothing down the pearl-gray tunic the councilor had provided her as she went. When they arrived in the QEC, Tevos was standing with her hands clasped behind her back as a projection of Admiral Drescher paced across the terminal like a tiger in a cage. Despite feeling inappropriately dressed to speak to the admiral, Hannah stepped up to the terminal and saluted.

Drescher did not return the salute and instead barked, “Identify.”

Without pause, Hannah responded. “Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard of the Alliance Navy, ma’am. Assigned to Captain Viet Tran of the _SSV Feynman_. Serial number 426784325.”

The admiral looked off to the side, as if waiting for an unseen person to confirm Hannah’s information, and after a moment, she quirked a smile and returned the salute. “Good to see you’re safe, Lieutenant Commander. Captain Tran will be relieved to know you’re alive. At ease.”

Hannah fell into parade rest and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Drescher grew sober again. “Report.”

Hannah related the highlights of the last weeks’ events as succinctly as she could, eliding some of the more unpleasant aspects of her experience with Vyrrnus and ending with the asari councilor’s call for a ceasefire. When she’d finished, the admiral nodded, her mouth drawn into a thin line. She stood ramrod straight, her shoulders square and her hands behind her back.

“Is establishing foreign policy within your purview, Lieutenant Commander?” The question sent ice through Hannah’s veins, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

“No, ma’am.”

The admiral began to pace again but never left the range of the QEC platform. “And yet you took it upon yourself to secure this ceasefire? Without direction from or even consultation with the chain of command?”

“No, ma’am,” she said and stopped herself. “I mean, yes, ma’am, but the ceasefire is not official until you agree to it. I don’t have the rank to authorize it.”

Drescher gave a curt nod. “That’s right, Lieutenant Commander. You don’t. Have. The rank. Would you mind telling me how I am supposed to reject a ceasefire agreement one of my own people went out of her way to arrange? A subordinate no less?”

Tevos stepped forward and held up her hand. “If I may, Admiral. While the lieutenant commander’s presence in my household is not a confidential matter, I have instructed my people not to discuss it with anyone. Moreover, no one is aware of her role in the ceasefire. To the Hierarchy, the request came from the Council; to the Council, the motion came from me. You are under no obligation to agree to the ceasefire, but I strongly advise you do.”

Drescher held an unblinking gaze at the asari for long enough that Hannah was unsure whether she was considering her words or imagining breaking her neck. “Councilor Tevos, would you please excuse us so that I might speak with my officer alone.”

The asari bowed her head and quickly left the room. Perhaps she wondered about the admiral’s intentions to kill her as well. When they were alone, Drescher turned back to Hannah. “I’m not eager for war, but I will not back down from any threat to a human colony, Lieutenant Commander. Humanity, the Alliance. We must not appear vulnerable to the galaxy, not at this early stage. They saw what happened when they attacked Shanxi. We will meet them blow for blow.”

Hannah took a deep breath and asked, “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” When Drescher nodded, she continued, “I think you’re right, ma’am. We will match them in battle, I have no doubt. The difference, however, is that they would be able to replenish their resources much faster and more efficiently than we could. They have well-established colonies on dozens of worlds. We have less than a handful of settlements that still rely on outside assistance to survive. They can wait us out if they want to. They can throw wave after wave of soldiers at us, and they have allies to help them do it. We only have ourselves. Humanity might not be vulnerable now, but we certainly will be then, and there will be no hiding it.”

Drescher pressed her lips together, seeming to consider what Hannah told her. When she spoke again, some of the steel had gone out of her voice. “The Alliance wants blood, Lieutenant Commander. Accepting a ceasefire would be an extremely unpopular move.” She huffed and shook her head. “The only thing less popular would be a surrender. I won’t be another General Williams.”

Hannah hesitated and cleared her throat to find her voice again. “Ma’am, may I offer my opinion?”

The admiral barked a humorless laugh and shook her head. “You’ve offered more than just your opinion, Shepard. You’ve lain the groundwork for all future diplomacy between humanity and the rest of the galaxy. Please, proceed.”

“Ma’am, this ceasefire is a decided win for us. We’ve already met the turians blow for blow, as you say: they hit us and we hit back, hard. It behooves us to end this conflict before they can strike again. Everyone’s egos are bruised. We need to shake hands and walk away before they’re bloodied too. And there will be plenty of blood if we don’t walk away, ma’am. Accepting this ceasefire opens the door to making allies, rather than enemies—maybe not with the turians, per se, but with the other races. That’s the real groundwork for humanity’s future diplomacy, and it would be your legacy, not mine, because the choice is yours.”

The admiral’s eyes became unfocused, and she hummed to herself. “Very well, Lieutenant Commander. You’ve made your point, as much as I don’t like it. The Second Fleet will rendezvous with the Citadel in thirteen hours. Captain Tran will be with me and provide you with a fresh set of dress blues. Once you’re presentable, you will accompany me to the ceasefire talks.”

Hannah snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shook her head and said more to herself than to Hannah, “The UNAS is going to have my ass for this.”

#

When Hannah couldn’t find Dess in either the library, where she’d left her, or in her room, she made her way to the kitchen. She found the turian rummaging through the pantry. Food packages and containers were strewn haphazardly around her on the floor.

Dess didn’t turn around as Hannah approached cautiously, eyeing the uncharacteristic mess, but she must have heard her anyway. “Do you know what we did with that ryncol that first night? I could’ve sworn we put it back here.”

Hannah went to the other cupboard and pulled out the bottle full of the bright pink liquid. “You okay?” she asked.

“I will be in a few minutes,” she said, taking the bottle. “How did the meeting with your admiral go?”

Hannah watched as Dess went to another cupboard and pulled out a tumbler. “Fine. She was angry at first, but she came around. She’ll be here tomorrow morning to negotiate the terms for ending this conflict.” Dess poured and promptly knocked back two fingers of the alcohol she’d told Hannah not to drink unless she was already drunk. No ice. No water. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The major coughed and slammed the tumbler down on the countertop. “Yeah,” she said. “Shit, that tastes horrible. Every single time.” She coughed again. “I got a nice long-distance call a few minutes after you did. Well, I didn’t. Tevos did. She just had me in the same room in case she needed me, but Octavus didn’t know that. It seems he’s not quite as indulgent as your admiral.”

Hannah found her own glass and poured out two drinks that were more reasonably measured. “Yeah? What did he have to say?”

Dess pounded back the second drink without waiting for Hannah to even lift her glass. “Oh, nothing incriminating. He’s not going to go off on a councilor about how one of his own people helped a prisoner escape, especially if he doesn’t know she already knows.” She sniffed, and Hannah noticed her neck start to go slightly blue. “He said that General Vittoro had agreed to negotiate for a ceasefire, but he wanted to go on record with the Council that he felt their request was both reckless and idiotic. He seems convinced that humans are a danger to the galaxy. He actually told the councilor that if any of his crew were to sympathize with the humans, he’d have them tried for high treason.”

Hannah hummed. “Sounds pretty xenophobic.”

She shook her head. “That’s not it. I mean, it is xenophobic, but that’s not the point.” She reached for the bottle and bypassed using the tumbler altogether this time. After the coughing subsided, she continued. “If he’s talking about high treason, he’s talking about capital punishment. Sure, I might just end up with life in prison, but he’s being denied the one thing he wanted: war. He’s going to want blood, and mine’s really handy. He’s going to push hard for my execution, no matter how the negotiations go.”

Hannah stilled and felt her insides go cold. “You have asylum here. He can’t touch you.”

Dess laughed, though it was filled more with hysteria than anything else. “Yeah, I have asylum here. Tevos won’t mind having a permanent house guest, will she? I hope the person who comes after her doesn’t mind either. It’d be a shame if they reneged. At least the food is better than a military prison’s.”

Galactic politics and treaties were beyond Hannah’s knowledge, but there had to be a place Dess could go where she wouldn’t be extradited.

The turian pushed off the countertop, already unsteady, and started to pace. “Or maybe I could get Sana to smuggle me off the Citadel, just like she smuggled us on. I could run off to Omega, maybe join a merc band.” She paused and fixed her gaze on the middle distance. “Become one of the thugs I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to protect people from. Never see my family or anyone I care about again.”

Hannah set down her glass and put her hands on Dess’s shoulders. She turned her so they faced each other. “None of that is guaranteed. You’re panicking over what’s clearly the worst-case scenario. Octavus might be powerful, but he’s not going to get what he wants just for asking. Think. What are your other options?”

She shook her head and started trembling. “You don’t understand. When you leave here, you’ll be a hero to your people—the wily soldier who was captured by the enemy and outsmarted them. The absolute best outcome for me, the one that’s almost beyond hoping for, is a dishonorable discharge. I might be free to move around in that case, but I’d still be a pariah. My family would be within their rights to require me to remove my markings, and they would. I’d be lucky to get a job at a food stand on Taetrus after this.”

A high keen escaped Dess, and she turned away from Hannah.

Nothing could ever just be easy, could it. Hannah turned back to her own glass and drank down its contents in a single swallow. She quickly realized this was a mistake.

For a good sixty seconds, it felt like her insides were being incinerated—and they probably were. No amount of coughing or deep breathing relieved it, and she had to go to the sink to drink the water straight from the faucet. When the burning finally subsided, she turned around to find Dess trembling again, this time with laughter.

“I’m sorry,” she said, starting to slur. “I shouldn’t have made it look so easy. Ryncol takes some getting used to.”

Hannah coughed one last time and glared at the turian, though with no real heat. “Alternatively, it takes no getting used to because you don’t have to get used to a drink you’ll never drink again. What’s the proof in that shit?”

Mandibles fluttering in amusement, she cocked her head and looked as smug as Hannah had ever seen her. “Don’t tell me humans can’t take a little 180-proof alcohol. Maybe you’re not as tough as you think you are.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and mumbled, “Jesus Christ.”

Apparently done laughing, Dess took a deep breath and turned serious again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, Han. All I know is that whatever it is, it won’t be good.”

Hannah put her hand over Dess’s but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, really. She knew Dess was right about everything. She’d never seen her this upset, and there was nothing she could do, no balm she could offer, to help.

After a long pause between them, Hannah ventured, “What would be better than the best outcome you can hope for? Hypothetically.”

Dess closed her eyes and sighed. “There’s no chance for it, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” she said. Then, more lightly, “Humor me.”

She was quiet long enough that Hannah thought she was being obstinate. When she finally did speak, her words came much heavier than they had before. “I wanted to be a general, you know. I guess that’s impossible now. But if I can’t do that, I always thought of C-Sec as a good back up. It’s not exploring the galaxy and fighting bad guys on unexplored planets, but it’s still protecting people and I like it here. I like . . .” she trailed off and Hannah wondered what it was she liked. “I like it here,” she repeated finally.

Dess reached for the bottle again, and Hannah pulled it out of her reach. She flicked her mandibles indignantly, but Hannah stopped her before she could protest. “I’m not saying no more. I’m saying no more right now. I give it five minutes before all that liquor you just inhaled hits you like a hammer, and I don’t want you dying of alcohol poisoning the night before everything ends.”

Dess huffed, but she didn’t argue.

Hannah set the bottle down again and took both of the turian’s hands in her own. Dess twitched her mandibles slowly and at an unreadable angle, a low rumble emanating from her chest, but Hannah pressed on. She couldn’t let Dess remain in this state. “I don’t know how to fix this, but I’m going to try. I promise.”


	12. Chapter 12

It felt like coming home to pull on an Alliance uniform again. The clean, thick fabric was a warm and comforting embrace against her skin. Tran—or perhaps it had been Drescher—had even thought to send a bag of toiletries for her. The moment she massaged the Alliance-issue shampoo into her scalp was the moment she felt human again.

She combed and twisted her hair into a tight bun that sat on the nape of her neck and applied a light layer of makeup before pulling on her cap and making her way to the asari councilor’s formal dining room, which would serve as the venue for the armistice negotiations. Hannah still couldn’t leave, and Drescher had insisted she be allowed to partake in the proceedings.

Admiral Drescher, Captain Tran, and another captain she’d never met stood at rest near the door, waiting for the turian delegates to arrive. When she caught their eye, Hannah stopped and saluted.

The three officers returned the salute, and the admiral allowed her to approach. “At ease, Lieutenant Commander.” She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and extended her hand. “I’ll be damned if we don’t live in strange days.”

Hannah found herself laughing before she could hold it in. “Yes, ma’am,” she said when she collected herself. “It looks like space isn’t quite the final frontier we thought it was.”

At that moment, a cadre of turian officers rounded the corner. Hannah moved to take her place behind the admiral, but Drescher stopped her by putting her hand lightly on her shoulder. The admiral was not much bigger than Hannah, but she carried the demeanor of command like she was born with it. Her eyes and complexion were dark and clear, and they radiated authority. Hannah thought again of Bautista, the human mountain to her squall line. Both of them paled next to the controlled strength and power the admiral wore like a mantle. She was gravity: commanding stars and planets and tides with her mere presence.

The woman was unflinching and nodded to the lead turian, a female with rich brown plates and white markings made brighter by the contrast. She was flanked by two officers, one with a long fringe and crimson markings, the other with a shorter fringe and crisp, geometric, tan lines that were nearly the same color as his plates.

The lead turian stopped and clasped her hands behind her back. “I assume you are the human admiral?”

Drescher nodded. “I am Fleet Admiral Kastanie Drescher, Alliance Navy,” she said, pronouncing her name in proper German. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. I was not told your rank in advance.”

The turian flicked out her mandibles in amusement, and Hannah pushed down her resentment.

After a moment, she responded. “I am General Delphari Vittoro. The primarch of Palaven has granted me authority to negotiate and execute the terms of a cessation of hostilities between the Turian Hierarchy and the Human Alliance.”

Drescher smirked. “Systems Alliance.”

The general dipped her mandibles in confusion. Hannah felt no small amount of satisfaction at the gesture. “I beg your pardon?”

“I represent the _Systems_ Alliance, not the Human Alliance. You should know the name of the other party before you sit down to arbitration, and I would hate for you to continue to make the same mistake uncorrected.” Drescher smiled and swept out her arm in invitation. “Shall we?”

The general brought her mandibles in tight and entered the conference room without another word.

As the other officers filed in, Hannah put a hand on the admiral’s shoulder to stop her. “Ma’am, may I have a word with you in private please.”

She nodded and waited until the others were all gone. “What can I do for you, Shepard?”

Hannah retrieved a datapad from her blazer and handed it to the other woman. “I was hoping you could represent a few personal interests during the negotiations.”

The admiral took the datapad and skimmed its contents. She furrowed her brow and met Hannah’s gaze again. “Are you sure about this, Shepard? It can’t be undone.”

Hannah nodded and cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am. It’s the only thing I can think of to help a friend.”

Drescher looked at her questioningly. “A friend? Do you mean the asari or the turian?”

She shrugged and smiled nervously. “Both, I suppose. Dr. T’Oriza’s life would be made easier if the record of my imprisonment were destroyed, but it’s more pressing for Major Ravaka.”

Drescher crossed her arms and looked at Hannah with even more scrutiny. “What makes you think they’ll be inclined to grant these requests? Releasing you is standard, but I don’t think I’ve ever been part of military negotiations that included asking for a job for someone else.”

She started to lift a hand to her neck to rub it nervously, then decided to pull back her collar instead, revealing the bright scars there. “No military likes to be caught misusing advanced interrogation techniques.” At the admiral's stunned expression, Hannah explained her experience with Vyrrnus and what he’d done to her. When she’d finished, she continued, “If there’s no record of me, I have no grounds for a civil suit against them, and any claims I’d make in public would be unsubstantiated. They’d also have the means of denying any claim that a simple human was able to evade their capture and make it all the way to the asari councilor’s home unimpeded. They save face, and the major gets the clemency she needs to move on with her life no worse for me having been in it. The job is a convenient excuse for them to be able to discharge an officer they won’t trust anymore.”

The admiral nodded but still looked incredulous. “Shepard, if they expunge the record of your incarceration, we won’t be able to acknowledge it either. You could be a hero to every person in Alliance space. Your name would be on everyone’s lips. They’d write books about you. They’d make vids of you. Hell, you could probably retire on the royalties alone. But not if your record is erased and we agree to a gag order.”

“I’m aware, ma’am,” Hannah said, nodding. “But I think this request will at least show some goodwill during the negotiations, and the people who saved my life would be able to go about theirs.”

A smile ghosted over her expression, and Drescher nodded. “Very well.”

The two of them turned back toward the door and entered the room.

In the room, an asari was setting out datapads in front of each chair while another was pouring out measures of water into glasses for each attendant. Tevos was already seated at the head of the table and was scrolling through her own datapad. She looked up and smiled as Hannah and Drescher joined the rest of the assembly. She stood and motioned for them to take their seats.

“Admiral, General, thank you for coming today. As a representative of the Council, I will arbitrate these negotiations today. Please sit down so that we may begin.”

Drescher turned to Hannah and said, “In light of this new information, Lieutenant Commander, your testimony is not likely to be needed, but I would like for you to be accessible if it is. Would you please wait for us outside?”

The turian officer with the tan marking looked up and glared at her. “Lieutenant Commander? As in Lieutenant Commander Hannah Shepard?”

Hannah nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The officer stood and turned to Vittoro. “General, this human is the fugitive—”

Tevos held up a hand to stop the flow of accusations. “Whom I’ve granted asylum as a guest in my residence, Colonel Octavus. I’m well aware of who the lieutenant commander is, and she has made no attempt to deny the nature of her relationship to the turian military. She is a prisoner of war, and by the end of today there will be no war. No war means no prisoners. Any attempts by the Hierarchy’s representatives to detain her will be met with swift—and not inexpensive—litigation. Do I make myself clear?”

The colonel did not move to take his seat again, and he continued to glare at Hannah. She refused to look away.

It was comical almost. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—a weathered, battle-hardened, old turian who towered over her with an eye patch maybe or a cybernetic arm—but the illusive colonel who stood before her now? Who had first attempted to let her die through neglect, then unleashed a brutal interrogator to torment her, then tried to manipulate her into what amounted to death by cop, and _then_ chased her across the galaxy? Who wanted to see Dess executed for helping her? He stood before her now—the great wizard unveiled—looking so normal he was almost nondescript. No markers of villainy. No outward appearance of a moral deficit. She’d have thought whatever powers moved the universe would have at least made a bad guy _look_ like a bad guy.

A low growl thrummed from the general, which drew the colonel’s attention away from Hannah. “I find it strange, Colonel, that you did not recognize the human until her name was spoken. I’d have thought that if she was a prisoner on your ship, you would at least be able to recognize her on sight. I’m inclined to think that her escape was enabled more by a breach in security protocol on every level than by her own ingenuity. Perhaps an inspection and a review of your ship and crew are in order after these talks have concluded.”

He stiffened, but the aggression in his demeanor faded. His mandibles twitched in barely contained panic.

Vittoro let out an annoyed growl, low but no longer menacing. “Sit down, Belari. The human is beyond your reach now.”

After another moment, the colonel returned to his seat, and Drescher nodded Hannah toward the door.

#

Judging by the volume of the voices on the other side of the door, Hannah quickly surmised that she would likely be waiting for a long while. She didn’t dare stir from her position, but knowing that the _Feynman_ was docked so near made her restless. She hadn’t wanted to ask the one question that had been pressing on her since first seeing Drescher on the QEC, but it would not leave her.

_Was Michael alive?_

Shanxi had been retaken. War with the turians was currently being averted. Her release was imminent. The admiral would take care of Dess, she was sure. Michael’s status was the only stone she wore around her neck now.

She hadn’t let herself think it until now, but for the first time she wondered what she would do if he . . . How was she supposed to raise Alli on her own? Who would braid her hair or hum to her when she was scared? How was she supposed to not be married anymore? How could she sleep in a bed big enough for two all on her own?

Had he been afraid? Had he been angry? How many did he take down first? Was it quick or did he linger?

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thoughts. _Focus, Hannah. You can’t go to pieces yet_.

She began to worry the inside of her lip. From the back of her mind, she heard Michael teasing her. _You’re going to chew right through one day, Han_. She stopped.

She brought up the interface for her omni-tool and rooted around until she found the chat app. Her finger wavered over the two names there as she debated. Dess was probably still sleeping off the ryncol, but she would come if Hannah called her. But if the colonel’s reaction to seeing just Hannah was any indication, the two of them even accidentally running into each other would turn out badly. She sighed and selected Sana’s name.

_HS: How is she?_

It took only a moment before she got a response.

_ST: Still sleeping. I’ve got water and pain killers ready to go for when she wakes up. At least the two of you only do this one at a time._

Hannah smiled bashfully and felt her cheeks warm remembering the morning after they first arrived. She’d been in a similar state and woken to find herself still in Dess’s nest of a bed, where she’d fallen asleep watching that vid about the turian and the quarian. Sana was standing beside her and holding out a glass of water and a white pill. There was a distinct look of disapproval on her face, but she didn’t say anything. Dess would no doubt wake to find that same look directed at her.

_HS: Octavus is here. Make sure she stays in her room when she wakes up._

_ST: Of course, Lieutenant Commander. Thank you for the warning. I will bring you something to eat later if the talks have not yet finished._

Hannah hadn’t considered that, and her stomach turned at the thought of food. No, eating would be impossible until she found out one way or another about Michael.

It was going to be a very long day.

#

The negotiations took precisely twelve hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-two seconds, but it felt much longer.

When the door to the conference room finally swished open, the turian general, flanked by her two officers, walked quickly through it without even a side glance at Hannah. Behind them, the two Alliance captains also walked out. While the other captain continued walking—also without looking at Hannah—Tran stopped briefly.

He smiled and took her hand for the first time. “It’s damn good to see you, Shepard. I thought we lost you back on that rock.”

She grinned. “It’ll take a lot more than that to take me down, sir. But I think I'm going to need a new bird.”

He nodded. “True enough.” Before she could ask any of her questions, he released her hand and turned her toward the conference room. “Admiral Drescher would like to speak with you privately. Report to Docking Bay E14 immediately when you’re done.”

With that, he turned and followed the commander toward the exit.

Hannah entered the room to see Drescher standing near the windows in low conference with the councilor. Tevos smiled and looked over at Shepard. She nodded, but said nothing else before taking her leave. Drescher turned to Hannah and smiled, the light from the window shining on her dark skin and glinting off her eyes.

“Come in, Lieutenant Commander,” she said and motioned for Hannah to take a seat. “I apologize that we did not get a chance to speak more before the meeting. I hope you didn’t find waiting too boring?”

“I came up through enlistment, ma’am, I’ve had my share of standing around at doors,” she said.

The admiral chuckled, then grew more serious. “You saved a lot of lives, you know. Hell, you just pulled humanity back from the brink of a catastrophe I can hardly fathom.”

Hannah stopped the shrug before it started. “I just got you to the table, ma’am. You brokered the armistice.”

Drescher nodded. “I suppose that’s how it’ll read in the history books, especially now. They agreed to your requests, but it took some convincing. I suspect the good colonel will be getting that inspection of his ship and crew sooner rather than later.” She smiled, but there was no mirth behind it. “I suppose you’ve drawn the short straw twice, haven’t you? First you draw up the battle plans that helped us take back Shanxi—yes, Tran told me it was your strategy when he approached me with them, and I made him put his name to them—then you made peace talks possible. We may not be friends with the Hierarcy any time soon, but at least we won’t be killing each other. Everything—our victory, our peace—it’s all because of you, and you don’t get to put your name to any of it. It hardly seems fair, Commander.”

Hannah cleared her throat, unsure if she should correct the admiral. “Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s lieutenant commander.”

Drescher’s smile broadened, now with real warmth. “I know what I said, Shepard. Effective immediately, you will enjoy the rank of commander with all its rights, privileges, and responsibilities. You will also take three weeks of merit shore leave, as well as all the back-pay due to you. I’d give you a bonus for time spent incarcerated, but well. At the end of your leave, you will report to the _SSV Einstein_ as her commander.”

For a full fifteen seconds, Hannah was dumbfounded. When she found her voice, she knew she should have used it to express gratitude, but she said instead, “The _Einstein_ is still being built, ma’am.”

Drescher nodded. “You’ll oversee the rest of her construction as well as her crew assignments. When she’s ready, she’ll be the most advanced carrier in the Alliance Navy and the first of her class assigned to the Fifth Fleet.”

“Fifth Fleet, ma’am?”

The admiral’s smile lost some of its warmth. “The galaxy is a lot bigger than any of us thought it was, Commander. If the Alliance has any hope of competing, let alone defending itself, we need to grow as quickly as possible. I’m designing the Fifth Fleet to engage on a galactic scale. She’ll need to represent the strength and determination of humanity, and she’ll need to give pause to anyone who might try to engage us.”

Hannah nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

“And speaking of firsts,” she continued, “I would also like for you to be the inaugural recipient of the Star of Terra. For your courage and distinguished service above and beyond the call of duty. Any soldier can fight a war. Not everyone aims to end one. I’ll come up with the official reason later.”

Hannah felt the color rising in her cheeks, but kept her expression even. “Thank you, ma’am,” she said. “It’s been an honor to serve.”

Perhaps it was the rush of blood in her ears or the onslaught of wave after wave of new information (a new rank? a new ship? a new fleet? a new award?), but she didn’t hear the swish of the opening door and she nearly missed the admiral’s smile grow one size more. Her eyes seemed to sparkle when she said, “If you’ll excuse me, Commander, I must return to the _Feynman_ to finish up some paperwork with Captain Tran. And I believe you have a visitor.”

When the admiral walked past her, she turned to ask what she meant but stopped cold, the nebula of questions spinning in her head finally collapsing into a single, irrefutable, real answer. He stood not five meters away, his gunmetal gray eyes pinning her to where she stood. _Michael_.

She didn’t know which of them moved first. One moment, he was standing across the room from her. The next—just as the door closed behind the admiral—they were a tangle of arms and legs and lips. Hannah was voiceless, all her words rushing up and dying before they could leave her throat, and Michael was no more capable of speaking it seemed. The taste of salt rushed across her tongue, and she had no idea whose tears they were—perhaps both of theirs—but she didn’t care. It was Michael, and _he was alive_.

He was the first to speak, and when he did, it was just her name, reverent and shattered. He broke their kiss to bury himself into the crook of her shoulder, to smell her hair, to sob her name again. He lifted his head to look her in the eyes again and brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen across her brow.

“Hannah,” he said, the note of disbelief still clear in his voice. “You don’t get to die on me again. You only get to do that once.”

She choked out a laugh and kissed him. Of course he’d be a smartass right now.

“I promise,” she said, barely above a whisper.

For a long moment, they stood there, just holding and breathing in the scent of one another.

When she opened her eyes to look at him again, she grinned. “I have a room here, you know. Just up the stairs and to the left.”

He chuckled. “I thought Tran said to report to the _Feynman_ immediately.”

She shrugged one shoulder, and her grin grew wider. “I think there’s an understood time difference there.”


	13. Chapter 13

As Hannah got dressed in her new BDUs, Michael lay stretched out on the bed, watching her. She suppressed a smile at his appreciative grunt and dressed a little slower. When she turned around, however, melancholy had darkened those eyes that had been so bright.

“I thought I’d never get to do this again—just, watch you move,” he said quietly. He held out a hand and she took it, sitting on the bed beside him. “The thought of having to learn to love someone else . . . I don’t think I could do it, Han.”

She placed her palm against his neck and stroked his jaw with her thumb. “I know the feeling.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t think you do.” He paused, hesitating over his next words. “We were tuned into your squadron’s channel when you went down.” Hannah’s breath caught in her chest. She hadn’t known that. “I heard it when your line went dead. It froze me up inside. I knew there was nothing we could do from where we were. All I could do was sit there and listen to the silence where your voice used to be.” He huffed. “No one even looked at me. Bautista was the only one. She yelled at me to get my ass moving when I was the only one who hadn’t jumped yet. She said it was hunting season on E.T., and I had an unlimited license. She said she’d even let me take the first shot, but I had to jump first.” He paused before continuing, running his fingers slowly and deliberately across the smooth plain of her hair. “I lost count of how many I killed.”

Hannah didn’t know what to say. Instead, she slowly stroked the inside of his wrist with her thumb. She wanted to reach out to him, to wipe away the memory. He was done talking. She could tell. It was her turn to say something, but her mind was blank. All she knew how to do was hold his hand and try to will his breathing into an even rhythm.

Maybe one day he wouldn’t look so much like he was drowning. Maybe one day, he’d be able to look at her again like he wasn’t waiting for her to disappear. Maybe one day, he’d be able to make love to her without that edge of desperation that he’d had. Maybe one day, he’d be Michael again.

Before she was able to figure out what to say next, he pulled away, sitting up and swinging his legs to the other side of the bed. He scooped up his clothes and made his way into the bathroom. Once he was sorted, he picked up her bag and nodded toward the door.

Time to go. Hannah allowed herself to wonder briefly if anything would ever be like it was before Shanxi. Then she followed Michael through the door.

#

Once they were in the hallway, she stopped him. She thumbed over her shoulder and explained, “I want to say goodbye.”

He nodded and followed her down the hall. When she reached Dess’s room, the door stood open, so she peeked inside. She stood in the middle of the room exchanging a salute with General Vittoro, who quickly turned around to exit the room. The general spared her a glance that was almost amused, but she didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries. Hannah turned back toward Dess and smiled.

She walked into the room, Michael trailing behind her. “My captain wants me to report to the _Feynman_ , so I don’t have long.”

Dess seemed dazed and looked at Hannah as if she’d never seen her before. “They,” she started and stopped. “I’m being offered a voluntary discharge with a recommendation from Octavus and a sponsorship from Tevos to C-Sec,” she said, her mandibles drooping in disbelief. “It’s Inernal Affairs, which I think is supposed to be an insult, but I’ll take it. No indictment. No charges. What did you do?”

Hannah smirked. “You can’t be accessory to a prisoner’s escape when there’s no record of that prisoner ever being apprehended. I’ll be surprised if Vyrnnus doesn’t get his own discharge papers soon too, courtesy of the general.”

“So, as far as anyone not directly involved is concerned, nothing happened?” She still seemed unable to believe any of it.

Hannah nodded, still smirking. “That’s about the size of it. I never knew I’d grow up to be a state secret. You’ve made my life very exciting, Dess.”

Behind her, Michael coughed and Hannah remembered herself. She turned toward him and took his hand to pull him forward. “Michael, this is Major Odessus Ravaka. She’s saved my life more than once.”

Michael hesitated a moment but stuck out his hand. When Dess took it, he shook it once. “Thank you for bringing her back to me.”

Dess nodded. “She talked about you a lot. She never gave up hope that she’d see you again.”

He nodded and turned back toward Hannah. “We need to go, Han. Captain Tran is waiting for us.”

He was right. It was past time for them to go. She put out her arm and shook Dess’s hand. “We might not be on the run anymore, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to talk to me. I expect regular status reports.”

Dess flicked out her mandible in a silent laugh. “Wilco,” she said and released her hand.

Hannah turned toward Michael again, and they left the room before she could do something silly and sentimental like hug a turian.

They weren’t a dozen paces down the hall before her omni-tool pinged.

_OR: Current status is elated and more-than-slightly baffled. Will report again when status changes._

Hannah chuckled and gripped Michael’s hand.

#

Hannah half-expected Colonel Octavus to be waiting for her outside the councilor’s residence. The image of him holding a pair of handcuffs—obscure civil citation at the ready—almost made her laugh. But it was Tevos and Sana who stood waiting for her, not the villain that had plagued her last weeks. As Hannah approached, the councilor looked up from her data pad and nodded toward her.

“Lieutenant Commander,” she greeted her. Hannah kept the correction to herself, sure that it would be unbearably rude after everything the councilor had done. Instead, she nodded her acknowledgement. Tevos smiled warmly. “Your admiral is a worthy officer. It was a pleasure to negotiate the armistice with her.”

Hannah nodded again. “She’s a credit to the Alliance.”

Tevos stepped closer to Hannah, glancing momentarily to Michael, and placed a hand on her arm. “Humanity has potential, Hannah, but I think it is only fair to warn you that your race will be under scrutiny by the Council after the incident at Relay 314.”

Michael huffed. “Hundreds dead, an occupation by an alien force, and she calls it an incident.”

She pushed down the feeling of being mortified and looked grimly at Michael. “Councilor, I apologize that I haven’t introduced my husband. This is Major Michael Shepard. Michael, this is Councilor Tevos of the Citadel Council. She granted me asylum and negotiated the armistice between the Alliance and the Hierarchy.”

Tevos nodded toward Michael. “I understand your bondmate’s reservation, Lieutenant Commander. Nevertheless, I will tell you what I told the admiral: Humanity must tread carefully if you want to wield any influence on the galactic stage. Steer your peers and comrades toward cooperation, rather than confrontation, whenever you can.”

Hannah could already feel Michael bristling beside her, and she knew she had to bring this conversation to an end. She put out her hand, and the asari took it. “Of course, Councilor. We will make sure humanity is the paragon of diplomacy and collaboration.” Michael’s bristling turned almost immediately into suppressed laughter. Hannah smiled, hoping the councilor didn’t notice her husband’s lack of decorum. “Thank you, ma’am. For everything. You helped to save a lot of lives today.”

Tevos smiled one more time and nodded before leaving.

Sana stood with her arms crossed and quirked a brow at her. “With as much trouble as you get yourself into, I feel like I should trail after you with forceps and packets of medi-gel.”

Michael looked briefly alarmed, but Hannah put a hand on his arm to let him know Sana was teasing. “I’ll miss you too, Doc.”

Faster than Hannah thought possible, Sana put her arms around her and held her tight. “Take care of yourself, Hannah.” She stepped away from Hannah, smiling sadly.

She squeezed the asari’s hand. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Sana. Thank you. I’ll send you pictures of Alli when I get back to Arcturus.”

Her laugh was watery, and Hannah knew she didn’t have much time. “Take care of Dess. She’ll get into enough trouble for the both of us.”

Sana nodded and turned away, heading back toward the stairs. Hannah felt Michael’s hand tug at hers, and she finally let him lead her away.

As they stepped out onto the Presidium, Michael asked, “So what are those blue things?”

Hannah sighed, not sure if he was serious or trying to get a rise out of her. “Those _people_ , are asari. They found this place when the Greeks were still puzzling out geometry.”

He cocked his head toward her. “They found it? Who built it?”

Hannah shrugged. “All signs point to the protheans. Do you know where we’re going?”

He smirked and pulled her more urgently toward an elevator. “I do,” he said, “and I think you’re going to like the view.”

As the door slid shut, Michael dropped her hand and put his hands on her shoulders. When she wrapped her arms around his middle, he pressed his forehead to hers. They stayed like that—breathing in each other’s scent, feeling each other’s hearts beat together, warming against the other’s skin—for what could have been a moment or an hour. Hannah felt suspended—both weightless and timeless—and she never wanted let him go again.

Then the doors slid open. Michael stepped away first, but not without a small grunt of disappointment.

When she stepped onto the docking bay and saw the profile of the _Feynman_ bathed in that same amethyst glow she’d seen as they approached the Citadel, her heart began to race. It was a sight she’d almost dared not to hope to see. She held her breath until she was dizzy to make sure it was real and not a dream. Michael was at her back and placed his warm palms on her shoulders, grounding her.

He seemed to know the course of her thoughts and placed a comforting kiss against her temple. His voice was low and soothing in her ear. “Come on, Han. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the game Hawks and Doves, the one strategy the hawk is allowed to use is reciprocation. If the doves attack, the hawk attacks; if the doves ignore, the hawk ignores. The ideal outcome is for the doves not to attack in the first place. Technically, the doves can win by continuing with a strategy of attack from the first move, but they will end the game with only one point, rather than however many they started with.


End file.
